


Switch

by Marie_L



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Adultery, Alpha/Omega, Alternate History, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, First Time, Genderbending, Harm to Children, Hermaphrodites, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Verse, Orgy, Other, Oviposition, Past Sexual Abuse, Polygamy, Puberty, Public Humiliation, Robot Sex, Trope Subversion/Inversion, Weddings, little bit dorian!sexbot, spousal abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 21:24:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_L/pseuds/Marie_L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John falls in love with someone other than her bondmate, with potentially disastrous consequences for all concerned.<br/>*DONE*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is meant to a explore world in which BDSM has become the normative sexual practice in a society. And let's face it, there's no trope floating around fandom right now that's more Dom/subby than omegaverse. I'd call this more omega-inspired than "canon" omegaverse (can there be such a thing?) as I also find it perversely fun to make up alien biology (see below).
> 
> Disclaimer: In our current society BDSM is a family of kinks engaged in by *consenting adults*. Needless to say, in a world in which BDSM has the imprimatur of cultural expectation and what is "natural", the whole thing becomes very dub-con indeed. The non-con warning will be for chapter 2.
> 
> In this universe, there are no betas and no male/female sexes. Everyone is a hermaphrodite and possesses exactly the same set of genitalia. The physical characteristics that we associate with gender -- height, muscle mass, hip/waist ratios, rounded facial features, voice depth, etc -- are just part of normal human variation on this Earth. I mention this so people aren't (too) thrown by the pronouns; all the characters LOOK exactly the same way they do in the show. The primary biological differences between the alphas and omegas are (1) the omegas can only bond/reproduce with one other person in their lifetime, while the alphas can mate with multiple people, and (2) the alphas knot when a partner is in heat/ovulating.
> 
> More nerdy details about the biology and social arrangements can be found at the end of chapter 1 for those that like that sort of thing. Not necessary to read as all of it can be derived from context in the story.

John Kennex and her partner Dorian had an extra ten minutes to kill, so yet again they pulled into the alleyway four blocks from the station. The alley was hidden in shadow, windowless, cameraless, and close enough they could beat it back were anyone to wonder where they were with plausible deniability. Just like every other day, John turned off the engine and sat without speaking or turning to Dorian, her face wracked with shame for a few seconds until she buried it. Even though all they ever did was touch and kiss, far less than omegas had been known to do amongst themselves in their less inhibited and supervised moments, she still felt the guilt. Guilt about her emotional infidelity, but even more, guilt about putting Dorian at risk for deactivation with every indiscretion.

Dorian reached over and held John's hand, but otherwise sat quietly too, waiting for her to pull herself together. It always took at least six of their ten minutes to ease her into it. Finally Dorian guessed she had had enough and reached up to caress John's neck.

"You shouldn't touch me like that in public, " John murmured.

"This isn't in public." Dorian ran her fingertips under John's collar, then up to her jawline. "Besides you need more touching. Always more touching."

"I touch my kids every day. And both Rudy and Allen are complete cuddle fests"

"Somehow that just doesn't count." With her free hand, Dorian pulled John's hand to her lips and moved her tongue over the palm, the wrist, the arm. "What would you like me to do?"

Every day Dorian asked that, and every day John startled as if she had never heard the words directed at her before. "Why do you always ask me that? You know I never know."

Dorian leaned over and kissed the crock of John's neck, resisting the urge to strip her of the collar for the hundredth time. "Yes you do know. Tell me."

At the command John finally turned and caressed Dorian's neck back. "Kiss me slowly and gently. Please." She couldn't manage more than a whisper. Dorian smiled and complied, her lips extraordinarily soft and responsive and skilled. How could someone artificial feel so sensuous and alive? Their kissing was always intimate in a way John craved and hated herself for craving, the very desire an act of betrayal and degeneracy. It was hard to care though, once they got started; John wanted more and more and more, and Dorian was obscenely accommodating.

Three minutes left.

 

******

 

They waltzed into the station at the appointed time, as professional as ever. John acted put out that she was saddled with an annoying android, while Dorian pretended like she -- _it,_ John had to remember to call her it -- actually was an overzealous annoying android. Not that that required much of an acting job, as far as John was concerned.

That day John was called in to give a verbal report of the day's interviews, but Maldonado was still in conference with Paulo over his impending leave. Richard was the next-ranked alpha in the department and was clearly relishing the opportunity to take over the precinct for Sandra while they were all in and out during the Maldonad clan's Month From Hell. First they had Stahl's ovulation, then Allen's wedding. Then the winter trials and either a funeral or Little Psycho's victory aleph party, with bookies giving odds on the latter. Finally there was Kennex's own ovulation, her first since waking up from the coma minus a partner, nestmate and leg. Oh, and any week Jaden was going to pop with _her_ first thrush, necessitating yet another party, albeit one for squealing unbonded teenaged omegas and their notably nonsquealing fathers, standing guard against the slightest sign of switchy behavior.

Kennex knew their re-entrance to the station had been noted, so while waiting to be summoned she wandered over to Stahl's desk. Val seemed highly distracted, glancing at her phone every ten seconds and squirming in her seat.

"Hey, Val, do you have the Levino report for me yet? Hello?" She waved her hand in front of Valerie's eyes, who jumped as if just then noticing them.

"Oh. Sorry. No. I'll finish it by morning. I can, uh, give you a quickie verbal faq if you need it right now." She continued to unconsciously glance at her phone. John rolled her eyes and turned to Dorian.

"Aaaaaand Stahl's done for the day. He sent his marching orders already? Terrible for productivity."

Val widened her eyes and glanced around to see if anyone else heard the blatantly disrespectful remark. Dorian rolled her eyes at yet another example of her partner's reckless stupidity.

"You're asking for trouble as usual, Kennex." Stahl commented in a low voice. "Sandra's not going to put up with this shit forever. Especially not in public." John shrugged nonchalantly. Val shrugged back. "Fine, it's your ass getting the beating."

John had to smirk at that. "Not tonight, darling." Naturally Val involuntarily looked at her phone, which prompted John to outright laugh.

"Kennex! Dorian! Your report, now." Maldonado and Paulo were both waiting for them. Kennex walked over to her boss and bondmate's office, relieved, hardly able to wait to get out of there and get the hell home.

 

******

 

"Come on, Dorian, come up. Allen's practically been on house arrest for the past two weeks, she could use a visitor. And the kids always love you."

" _Sure_ they love me. Last time I came up Charlie nearly electrocuted my arm."

"Hey, he needs to practice his engineering skills. Actually Little Psycho's at the Academy until six today, so you're safe."

"Does Rudy know you call him that? Seems kind of disrespectful for the presumed aleph."

"Rudy's the one who came up with it. After the kid chopped off the heads of Sarika and Martie's favorite dolls, attached them to two homemade spider robots and made them jump on them in the middle of the night. Pretty sure you could hear the screaming from blocks away. Come on, at least say hi."

They ambled up to the ninth floor apartment. Like most extended nest families it was arranged in a concentric layout, the entrance coming in on a very large central public room. The main space had a long table on the left capable of seating about twenty in its current configuration, and an equally expansive carpeted seating area on the right for casual entertaining. The kitchen was off the dining area, and a dozen bedrooms sprung off the great room on both the north and south ends. On one side, behind the kitchen, were the rooms for the children and their martha. On the other side, far out of earshot from the kids were the bedrooms for the alpha and his other wives, and sometimes adolescents still living at home if the children's side got too crowded.

Currently the adult side was occupied by Sandra, Rudy, Valerie, John and Rudy's rishon and soon-to-be-hitched daughter Allen. Jaden was probably going to get Allen's room after the wedding, a move which John thought was premature, given her sensitive, shy personality and publicly declared preference to become a martha like her mother. But the general consensus these days was that teenagers should be exposed to adult sexual proclivities as soon as they hit puberty, all the better to train them up later. In any case John had less than zero authority in the matter.

Martin's room was still unoccupied. John wasn't sure why they were keeping it the same way it was on the day of the Insyndicate raid. It wasn't like Martin was going to magically wake up the way that John did, after all getting shot in the head was pretty fucking dead. But again, not her call.

When John and Dorian came in the front door, John's six-year-old daughter Sarika came racing up and joyously flung herself at her mother. It was unquestionably the best part of John's day, every day, getting her massive hug from Sarika when she came home. The little girl was one of only two reasons John dragged her wounded ass out of bed every morning and tried to function instead of putting a bullet in her brain. The second reason was the synthetic standing beside her.

After Sarika had her turn, Martie wanted a hug too, so John gave her one in Martin's stead. The girls were both of similar age and best friends, and spared the trials for the same reason, namely that their mothers had been killed in action. Or nearly killed, in John's case. When she regained consciousness and realized how much time had passed, she was sure Sarika had been selected into an alpha and was already dead. Her daughter was smart, but not that smart. Not tenth percentile smart. When the little girl came running into the hospital room and hugged her tight, John decided right then and there that she would do whatever it took to get out of bed and _live_.

The family's martha Cameron looked up from setting the table and smiled at them, the latest baby strapped to her chest in a sling. It always looked like a backbreaking proposition to John, lugging around one kid after another most of your life, but what did she know about it? The other nestlings were building some kind of giant fort out of sofa cushions in the living room, and the whole pack of them ran up excitedly when they saw John had brought up Dorian.

"Dorian! Dorian! Do the voices! The voooooooyyyysuus!"

Dorian grinned and began to take cartoon voice imitation requests from high-pitched three and four year olds.

One of the little ones, a round-faced two-year-old with messy brown hair named Lukas, snuck up to John during the ruckus and gave her a kiss for a subtly exchanged chunk of chocolate. The child had still been in egg when John was shot, and was already a toddler by the time she woke up. It had been a bit of a surprise conception in the first place, given that Sandra had married Val a scant three weeks prior to that year's heat and was still very much in training honeymoon mode, not to John's taste at all. John didn't even get to name it, so all of that plus the general sense of doom over the nestlings put a strong hamper on any sort of emotional connection with the child. Still she slipped Lukas a little piece of candy every evening, their secret treat. The omegas were supposed to treat all the nestlings equally, but nobody ever did.

While Dorian was doing party tricks with the kids, John went to check on Allen. Like her parents, Allen was a tiny thing, long straight brown hair, plain looking. There was something in her pale eyes, though, that betrayed her unusual intelligence. Not merely book smart, somehow _perceptive_ of the world around her in ways that others would never be, even into old age. John knew Rudy sometimes regretted the tradition that dictated a rishon should be left an omega, as she watched child after child fall in the trials. Rudy would never tell Allen such a thing of course, although John suspected she had figured it out long ago.

"Hey chickadee, how's the prisoner feel today?"

She put her anthropology book down. "Oh, fine. It's pretty much how I remember it from last year. Father let me go to classes today with an MX babysitter, so at least I got out of the house."

"We'll see if you still say that next week, when Val is popping one out. It'll be hormone central around here."

"And how about you? Won't it bother you too? Yours is in less than a month."

"Don't remind me. I'm an expert in emotional repression. Or so they tell me in Anger Management class."

"If you don't want to go through it, can't you just take the hormone suppression drugs?"

If it were anyone else, even Dorian, John absolutely would have told her to mind her own damn business on such personal marital subjects. Instead she said as gently as possible, "That's a pretty private matter, Allen. Your father has something to say on the subject, you know."

"I'm sorry, John. I didn't mean to pry or offend you."

"It's okay, kid. You'll find out soon enough that this stuff is ... complicated." What John meant to say was _find out_ _soon enough_ _that when your alpha controls your means of employment and your children, they can do whatever the fuck they want._ But she didn't say that out loud to the young omega getting bonded in twelve days.

Allen frowned, sensing the unspoken words, and looked back down at her book.

 

******

 

Valerie finally did give up working on her report, accepting that she was in no mental condition to do a decent job on it anyway. She would likely be punished for failing to finish the task by tomorrow morning, but then again she would also be punished for doing a crappy job, and figured she may as well work on it afresh when she was far less likely to be distracted.

As instructed she went directly home, nodding hi to Cam on the way in and ignoring the troop of children clustered around Dorian, and headed straight for the shower closest to her room. A long, blastingly hot session was her favorite way to prepare for the evening, mentally and physically, and she was delighted that "bathe" was among the preparatory orders Sandra had sent her. Val stepped into the steaming stream, letting it heat up almost to the point of pain on her back, then just let it run over her reddening body while she closed her eyes to think.

With ovulation so close Val was a dripping horny mess, her cock half firm all day, and she was sorely tempted to take it in her hand and stroke off just to release the tension, with emphasis on the sore. But that wouldn't do at all. Her body was his body, and his pleasure was her pleasure. She had to get herself in the right frame of mind, get past all of her own petty wants and desires, and accept her bondmate's desires in place of her own. The pain on her back helped her focus on something other than her unrelenting arousal, and soon she was able to let the pain go as well. She felt herself releasing control, letting go of her worries about the egg and responsibilities at work and even the stress about whether she would be adequate for Sandra tonight. Finally her will itself slipped off and slid down the drain, leaving her perfectly calm and accepting of the present, whatever it may bring.

She cooled the water down then and began her preparedness rituals. First she washed her hair and brushed out its silky lengths. Then she scrubbed her entire body, the whole surface of the skin, exfoliated dead cells running down the drain too. She carefully cleaned all of her genitalia, wiping down every fold in her penis, giving a gentle rinse to the lower portions of her oviduct, and using the shower head for a light enema. Finally Val felt she was clean, and briefly recited the appropriate blessing. She turned the water off and dried herself off thoroughly, put her collar back on, brushed her hair out again, and dressed herself only in the sheer open-fronted blouse as Sandra had directed.

In her small windowless bedroom she saw Cam had left some materials for her. The chain, the eyedropper and a box of toys. She knew better than to look inside the box, but its mere presence caused an anticipatory flush of arousal. So much for the zen calmness and mental blank slate. The chain was attached to a D-ring in the floor of her room next to her futon mattress, with short handcuffs on the other end. Val dropped the burning chemicals into her eyes, then locked herself in the cuffs before her vision blurred too much. Her wrists were bound tightly together, and she lay down on her side on the futon, wet and hard all over again. This time she didn't try to self-deny it, but instead let her thoughts drift to how her approaching heat was going to drive Sandra crazy, how the smell of her would make him hard the instant he walked into the room, how he wouldn't be able to resist taking and using her lovely body again and again. With those pleasant thoughts in mind, Valerie fell asleep, waiting for her lover to come home.

 

******

 

Maldonado did finally make it home just as the offerings for dinner were getting started. Rudy was working overtime in the lab trying to catch up on diagnostics before her week off, and Valerie was obediently tied down in her room, but otherwise his entire nest was there. He was a little irritated to see Dorian also there at the table, seated formally like a person down by the baby, prepared for battle with a few bowls of mushy tofu and carrots. Sandra had given Dorian to John as a last-ditch effort to save his wife's career and very possibly her sanity, but -- just as he had been warned by his superiors -- she was getting a little _too_ attached to it. Everyone agreed the DRNs had been a mistake, that their vaunted personality interface made it difficult for the omegas keep an appropriate emotional distance. It didn't help that the Bureau had used modified bangbot models in order to save a little money on R &D. All reports indicated that sexual activity with them was a piss-poor imitation of the real thing, but that hadn't stopped certain omegas from getting confused by their apparent humanness.

 _"John."_ Maldonado's tone wasn't gentle.

She stood up, a flash of defiance crossing her face for an instant before dropping her eyes in respectful deference. Maldonado became even _more_ irritated. John needed some discipline, but Sandra would a thousand times rather play with Valerie tonight. He decided to let the look slide, again.

"Your partner is police equipment, not our personal babysitter. Tell it to take the squad car back to the station for recharging."

John glanced at Dorian and nodded at it, not bothering to hide her regret. As if _she_ needed to apologize for hurting _its_ feelings. Definitely too attached. Sandra was going to have think about how to address the problem, ideally without going so far as to permanently take the DRN away. Maybe a temporary timeout during her ovulation heat in a couple of weeks would help John break off emotionally from the bot and re-establish her link with a more appropriate target, her bondmate. After two artificially suppressed cycles during her coma, this one was bound to be especially intense anyway.

With Dorian gone, dinner progressed smoothly. Charlie regaled them with tales of his latest virtual conquests that day at the Academy, Cam and Allen gossiped about the latest on the wedding decorations and floral arrangements, Jaden shyly reported to her father about a improved cake recipe she had tried and wanted to show off at the banquet. John didn't say a word throughout dinner, keeping her mouth shut and helping to feed and clean up the littlest ones. Good.

After the dinner blessings were completed, Sandra kissed each of his eleven children goodnight, left the others to clean up, and wandered down to the end of the hall to the person he _really_ wanted to see for the evening. Her smell already drifted into the hallway, and by the end of the week would permeate the apartment and possibly begin to affect the other omegas. Allen in particular might need to be sent to her grandfather's during the actual ovulation. Always a tricky business, having an unbonded adolescent in the house, so close to her own ovulation as well.

Maldonado opened the door to Valerie's room. The pheromone shock was alluring, a thing to behold in and of itself, and he stood there few seconds breathing it in before even glancing at the lovely figure lying still on the floor. She was asleep, her damp hair stuck to her face and arms tied out in front of her. Val was wearing nothing but the open-fronted silk blouse and her collar, so her beautiful olive-toned ass jutted out towards the door. She shifted then in her sleep, one leg bent upward, exposing her weeping oviduct. Sandra couldn't resist that; he dropped down onto the futon and brushed his fingertips against her entrance, smelling her. Even this early in the week it was incredibly arousing. He lay down and pressed his face to the opening in order to lick her, not caring if she woke up during it or not. Val stirred and unconsciously rotated her hips to give him better access, oozing even more liquid to lap up.

Sandra briefly considered deep fucking her right then to awareness, but opted against it due to the eyes. Val was always disoriented upon awakening, which normally produced just the right amount of squirming panic when taken while asleep. With the darkness, though, she was likely to be genuinely frightened and require comfort to adjust. So instead Sandra slapped her butt to jolt her out of sleep. Val's eyes flew open, and as anticipated began to thrash about and scream, not yet comprehending that she was blinded and tied down. Sandra enveloped her head in his arms, soothing her.

"Shhhh, shhhh, wake up my pretty. You're fine, you're fine.

She calmed down at his strokes to her face, her eyes wide and unfocused. When her breathing slowed and she began to rub her face into his neck, Sandra knew she was really awake. He gently pushed her away to arms length.

"Not now, time for snuggling later. Are you ready? You may nod." She did nod, and lowered her head to await further instructions. Sandra's preparatory text had specified that she was to be as silent as possible until told otherwise, and thus far she did remember, minus the involuntary screaming at the beginning. Of course he hadn't really tested her yet.

Sandra pulled the chain holding her arms down through the D-ring, yanking Val down on her hands and knees, then locked her cuffed hands to the floor. "Put your head down on the floor next to your hands," he murmured. "Show me that wonderful ass of yours, my pretty." She silently complied, grateful to have a reason to cover and close her eyes. Sandra took the opportunity to admire her smooth athletic rear, exposed and vulnerable. His plaything to do with however he pleased, his favorite one at the moment. He licked her again, rimming just the entrance to the oviduct, and she bucked back against him, desperate for fingers, a tongue, _something_ to be pressed inside her. She still didn't utter so much as a whimper.

Maldonado dragged the box of toys over to her side and made a show of rummaging through it, making the process much more noisy than necessary so she could hear what he was doing. He finally retrieved the toy he had planned on using all along, a long thin dildamorph. These fairly ingenious devices could be programmed via remote control for various shapes, textures, vibrational frequencies and temperatures. Sandra currently had it set up as a blunt spike, narrow at the rounded tip and gradually increasing to a thick end at the base. It was a cool six degrees C.

He rolled the cold instrument over Valerie's body, up her back and neck, then back down the bottom side, over the pierced nipple and by her rock hard cock pointing straight at the floor, then back between her legs. She tensed and tried to wiggle away as it was pressed between her legs, partially due to the temperature but mostly due to fear. A dildo that long could potentially bruise the interior of the shell gland, which would lower the odds of a viable egg. Sandra knew how desperate she was to conceive this time, her fourth attempt. It was not unusual for newly married omegas to lose eggs for five or more cycles, but the fact that she herself was a rishon, like Allen, and Sandra's overall excellent fertilization rate made Val a little obsessed with the issue.

Sandra rested a reassuring hand on her back, stroking it, calming her. "You have to trust me, pretty one. Trust." He rustled up some lube from the box -- the dildamorphs were supposedly self-lubricating, but it wasn't nearly sufficient in his opinion -- and applied it liberally to the tip of the device. He pressed it close to her upturned ass, but rather than inserting it into her oviduct, suddenly shoved it a couple of inches into her anus. Val gasped and barely managed to choke back a vocalization. Sandra wryly smiled at her superb control. He worked in the full length of the plug, twisting it slowly then pushing it in at unpredictable intervals, denying her any sort of rhythm. Val was straining against her restraints, breathing heavily and trying not to jerk or rock in any way. The shape of the device ensured she was stretched more and more with each insertion, until she reached her previous record size, then he gave her one tiny shove beyond.

Sandra loved pushing his bondmates just to the edge of their limits, training them to go a bit further each time. He prized control and endurance in himself and in his wives, and it was a joy to watch how differently they all coped with negative stimulus. Martin would stoically endure just about anything, not particularly enjoying it but not hating it either. John was the master dissociator, falling into subspace at the slightest sign of pain. Both Cam and his beloved Rudy probably would have cried uncle by now, Rudy because she had the pain tolerance of a three-year-old scraping its knee, and Cam because she found the punishment for petty disobedience to be hilarious and hot. But out of all them, Valerie was the sweetest to play with. She always tried _so_ hard to bend her will to his own, and was lusciously responsive to both pain and pleasure.

In fact, after thinking about it Sandra suddenly changed his mind about the play session that night. He wanted to hear her responses, wanted to hear her moan and cry out and beg. He wanted to feel her squeeze his cock, watch her squirm and shudder and sweat. So he said, "Very, very good my pretty. You may speak now." Val didn't immediately say anything or even moan, but simply let out a deep breath, as if she were internally repressing as much response as possible. Sandra lifted her head off the floor, then unlocked the cuffs for a moment. With his hands he directed her to sit up on her knees, the dildo still imbedded in her ass. He then locked her hands together behind her back, requiring her to carefully balance lest she tip over.

"Don't move, even if you get tired. Open your eyes." He slowly stripped his own clothes off at leisure, watching her strain and stare straight ahead, swaying very slightly to maintain her balance. So intoxicatingly beautiful.

Sandra laid back on her futon behind her. "Find me, my pretty. Find me and straddle me." The order 'don't fall over' was just implied. Val managed to turn around in small increments, without sitting on the dildo too much. She was still attached to the chain on the floor, so the leash limited the distance she could crawl. Val straddled Sandra's legs and inched her way up to his cock on her knees. She was barely able to make it, her arms strained and pulled backwards awkwardly to fit over him. Sandra adjusted his cock to enter her, and now she finally did moan at the sensation of the double penetration.. He could feel the cold dildamorph even through the thin membrane separating her colon and oviduct, so he used the remote to suddenly adjust the temperature upwards. That prompted another satisfying cry as she bucked against him, impaling herself on the plug even more.

Reaching up he grasped her hips and forced her to move up and down on his cock, bringing her down especially hard so she felt the full double thrust each time. Because her arms were pulled behind her, her pierced nipples and turbid cock jutted forward, just begging to be pulled and played with. Sandra reached up and pinched the piercings painfully forward for a few thrusts, and was rewarded some more moans.

Finally Val uttered her first words of the night. "Please, Sir, faster."

"You want me to fuck you harder, my pretty?"

"Yeeeeees. _Please_."

Sandra gave a full-toothed smile that his bondmate could not see, and grasped her hips to pull her down faster and faster. Val was getting practically no stimulation on her own cock from this angle, but still she was thrashing and rocking, close to coming. She held the orgasm back, though, obedient to the last, forcing it down within herself with every thrust.

Sandra was close himself, his penis swollen with an incipient proto-knot that signaled the real beginning of the heat, while the stretching stimulation in both her ass and oviduct pushing Val to her limit. She was crying out with each downward thrust, trying to push herself further despite the chain agonizingly yanking her arms and shoulders back every time. Sandra finally scooted down a couple of inches, to allow just enough clearance so he could fill her to the absolute hilt.

"You may come after me," he managed to spit out, just before pushing over himself, his cock huge and sticky at the orgasm. She shuddered nearly from the words alone, permission at last, propelling herself forward with so much force he was afraid she might have dislocated her shoulder.

Afterward Sandra sat up and rolled his arms around her, gently laying her to one side to reduce the pressure on her arms. He uncuffed her and reduced the width of the dildamorph, so it easily slid right out of her. Val rotating her aching shoulders then buried her face in his neck, their mutually warm skin entangling each other for the first time of the night. They weren't conjoined yet, but soon. Very soon.

"Are your arms all right, Val?" She nodded and rubbed her face in his neck even more. Sandra massaged her shoulders anyway; that had to have hurt.

"Can ... can I put the antidote in my eyes now? Please?" Val's voice was barely above a whisper. She must loathe the enforced blindness to be so upfront with such a request.

"No, my pretty. I have a few other things planned for you tonight. We haven't even gotten to the wand yet."

Valerie let out a low guttural moan right into his neck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that contains what I (and most rational people) would consider "spousal abuse" or rape/non-con, although they wouldn't call it that in the universe of the story. Things look up for poor John from here.

The next day John and Dorian needed to be down in district three for some interviews, a shadier section of town filled with cheap udon joints, filthy neurolabs and morally questionable switch theaters, all in the shadow of the Wall. The air of criminality in the neighborhood only marginally affected the density of camera surveillance, but MX patrols were heavier so it tended to even out. Nevertheless John wedged the car into a dark alley near a particularly good noodle shop, for the plausible excuse that she was going to lunch. Which she was totally going in for. Later.

Dorian was quiet for the customary emotional decompression, so she was more than a little surprised when John reached over and grabbed the android's face after a mere 23 seconds. When her partner had to pause to breathe, Dorian couldn't help but smile into her cheek, rubbing her jaw with a free hand.

"You're unusually ... straightforward today."

"Horny, Dorian. The word you're looking for is horny. You may have noticed it was pheromone central last night, so I'm blaming biology. There's only so much self-recrimination a cock can take. That's my story and I'm sticking to it."

"Uh-huh. Well as you know I don't actually produce any pheromones, so that seems a dubious conclusion at best."

"'Dubious'? For the love of my grandmother, Dorian, don't start that robotic shit with me. Today I get somen with real fish sauce _and_ unsupervised time in the car with your refreshingly odorless ass for a good half hour. I'm in a good mood. Don't spoil it."

"What do you want to do with our half hour?"

Kennex sighed. "Will you stop with that? I'm not your alpha, and I don't want to switch and order you around. So don't ask. Just do."

"Yes, sir," Dorian replied, and they both laughed. The truth was their relationship was always a little fraught with authority issues, even from the beginning. Was John supposed to order her around like some sort of of sub-omega? How did _that_ work? This seemed to be the way most people treated their MXs, but they were just robots. Tools. Even the youngest omega bride didn't have to ask a hammer for permission to pound a nail. John had initially thought of Dorian as only equipment, but it didn't take long for her thinking to shift over to "person" as the synthetic's sentience and volition was immediately obvious. A shift in thought that could very well cause both of them all manner of trouble.

John ran her fingers along Dorian's face, then they both leaned in, unhurried and sweet, exactly as John liked. The urge grew every day, to drag Dorian in to some dank basement or bitcoin-only theater and strip completely, feel her synthetic skin all over John's body, then the hands, then the mouth, then ... But that would be unacceptably risky. As cops they were both intimately aware with how complete the surveillance state was around them, how difficult to evade for any appreciable amount of time in even the lowest class districts. So light making out in the car was as far as it was going to go. John vowed that would have to do, because she really didn't think she could survive another partner getting killed on _her_ watch. Or deactivated, whatever they  wanted to call it.

Dorian had other ideas. While John was distracted with the kissing, she unbuckled her pants and slipped a hand inside to stroke her painfully restricted cock. John broke off.

"What are you doing? What if a patrol comes by?"

"Pretty sure the kissing alone would give us away, John. Don't worry, I am monitoring the position of all MXs in the area, and none are planning to drive by this alley for at least another nine minutes." She eased John's penis out of her uncooperative jeans. "So I think that gives us time for a little stress relief." Dorian bent over and took the head in her mouth.

"Wait. You ... you don't have to do this." Already it was hard to spit any words out. Dorian was sucking the tip hard, and John was already melting in her seat. But at the implicit reluctance the android paused.

A muffled voice came up from below. "But I can if I want to? You said just do."

"Yeah. If you want to." John tried to remember the last time she had been on the receiving end of even a half-egged blow job. Stahl's wedding?  Must be, s ame time of year, naturally she had been horny as hell then too. Pre-coma, pre-everything important in her life , now .

Dorian resumed sucking, wet and with exquisite pressure on the head, hitting just the right sensitive areas. Then she started going down on the shaft too, although _where_ it was going John didn't want to think about considering her partner didn't eat. The friction level was perfect, enough to be mind blowing. _Unbelievable,_ the programming these days. No wonder they had retired all the DRNs, probably none of their partners was getting any work done.

John began to emit low-pitched gasps, trying desperately not to moan and possible draw attention to themselves down the alley on the main street. She wasn't sure what to do with her hands; for a wild second she fantasized about grabbing Dorian's head and shoving her down, harder. But then the thought of such a controlling move repulsed her, and she settled for encouraging squeezing on the back of Dorian's neck instead.

Well before the nine minute mark John knew she was close to orgasm, unabashedly thrusting into Dorian's unfailing mouth now. Now she wanted to tell her to slow down, make it last longer, so she could savor the feeling for a few extra minutes. But the omegas considered fellatio to be a kind of gift, one you didn't ruin by impolitely bossing the giver around. So John pushed herself into it and came hard, while Dorian swallowed the small amount of semen to only the ancestors knew where. Dorian finally sat up, leaving only a weird incriminating lavender saliva on her cock.

"There, now maybe you be more comforta ..." John grabbed that beautiful face once again and rigorously kissed her, implacably turned on.

 

******

 

Back at the station late in the workday, John was in an extraordinarily good mood. Delicious lunch, delicious sex, a decent break in their case, even her stump ceased to itch for the afternoon. It was a perfect day, to be capped only by a Sarika hug at home. She even waved hi to Rudy, Paulo and Maki on her way in, garnering a suspicious glares from the latter two. Kazue Maki was Richard Paulo's third wife, mail order straight from Nippon, and the officially the most vicious omega John had ever met. She was tiny, barely five feet tall, with short gel-spiky hair that changed colors weekly, and an exaggerated submissiveness that somehow emasculated Paulo with its satirous immensity. Every day for lunch, for instance, she constructed these banquet-level twenty-piece bento boxes, complete with intricately carved vegetable flowers, sushi animal faces, cucumber woven baskets and the like, and Paulo had to sit there and eat it like he had somehow ordered her to do all that frilly work.

Once, early on in her return to the precinct, John had gathered the courage to ask Maki why her father hadn't made her an alpha. Maki had given John a withering look of disapproval at such an impertinent request, a look that indicated under other circumstances she would stab off one of John's fingers but would in this case respectfully bow to the social constraints of pansy-assed Canada. But then she did answer. She was the youngest child, and her _chourou_ already had three alephs, and her _haha_ begged for her own omega flower to watch over her at the end of her days. Her father expressed regret for this decision later in life, especially when it became apparent she was highly suited for security or police work like her brothers, and which was not permitted to weakling omegas in Nippon. So he granted her permission to go to the _kami-_ less heathen country across the ocean, thus shaming her _haha_ and making her weep for the day she ever decided to beg for anything. The end.

Naturally John liked Maki a lot, although she would never appreciate the sentiment.

That particular afternoon, Rudy was up from the lab for the same meeting John and Dorian came in for. The case involved some synthetic bodyguards as witnesses, so Rudy was there to lend some expertise. John jauntily walked over to the three of them. Dorian hung back slightly, for Paulo highly disliked the DRN, and her position was going to be a bit precarious while the Captain and John were off duty.

_"Detectives._ How are you on this fine day?"

Paulo smirked at her. "You're unusually chipper today, Kennex. Egg-eating with your partner in the car on the way here?"

Ah, a switch slur. John had heard every one of them since she came to the city some 25 years prior, and that particular version didn't even make sense except to be baldly vulgar. It was common knowledge that her parents were switches, and not the adolescent rebellion kind either. The kind that privately viewed the alphas as biological abominations, that clung to their culture despite ever more cumbersome restrictions with each passing generation. The kind that dispossesses their twelve-year-old daughter when she was accepted to one of Vancouver's omega prep academies, and unable to legally stop her departure, spread ashes and cut her off from their ancestral spirits as if she were among the vilest dishonored dead.

"No, just your grandmother," John replied, without giving it a second of forethought.

Paulo and Maki rapidly stood up, Maki with a murderous expression indicating she would happily disembowel John for her shame. Rudy put her face in her hands, unable to watch the disaster unfold. Dorian glared at her partner with incredulity, as if to say _r_ _eally,_ _John, was_ _impulse control_ _shot out of_ _your_ _brain along with_ _your_ _consciousness_ _?_

"What did you say?" Paulo took an aggressive step forward into Kennex's space. "Did you just insult my blessed grandmother, may her soul rest uncircled? _Did you?"_

John crossed her arms in defiance. She knew she should grovel and ask for forgiveness, or at least give Paulo a reasonable  face-saving way  out of the insult. But he was the same rank as Kennex, and certainly not her alpha, so technically she didn't have to give a damn about his precious  _honor._ Technically. Reality was a different matter.

John, in another insane fit of impetuousness, opted to double down instead. "Well. You  _were_ speaking of switches. So I was merely making an observation."

Paulo began to incoherently shout at that, prompting the ever-alert Maldonado to come out of his office to find out what the hell Kennex had done now. Naturally, Paulo tattled the instant his superior came into view. "She insulted me and my ancestors. She is an unstable  _disgrace_ and should never be allowed within these walls again."

To Maldonado's credit, he didn't imme di ately side with Paulo. "Is this true?" he asked his bondmate.

The moment hung in the air, with John feeling endlessly pissed off and beleaguered and powerless. In that instant she just couldn't submit to her station and bow down to her  so-called  social superior. Not to Paulo. John turned to Sandra and said, "I. AM. SICK. OF ALL THIS SHIT."

As soon as the words exited her mouth she knew what a grave error she had made. Maldonado struck her clean across the face , then , grabb ing John's collar at the fastener so it wouldn't pop open, dragged her across the room to his office. John was a good foot taller than him and could easily have escaped, but she made no effort to protest. Maldonado's face was angrier than she had ever seen it in twelve years of marriage. John was suddenly aware  of the  stupendous  level of deep shit she had put herself in, and possibly Dorian as well. The only thing to do now was to take whatever punishment was meted out, and hope for mercy.

When the office doors closed, John tried supplicancy. "Sandra, I'm ..." He practically flung her to the floor before she could get the words out.

_"Shut up and get on your knees."  
_ She had no choice but to obey.

"John. I am totally and completely at the end of my rope with you. " He unbuckled his belt, and for an instant John thought he would  strike her with it. Then she realized with a jolt of horror that he  intended something far different and less preferable to a public beating.  " I've given you every chance in the world, and you continue to be belligerent, oppositional, impulsive, and disobedient. Your behavior is endangering not only yourself but my position as well, and by extension Rudy and Val  too . " Maldonado unzipped his pants and pulled out his  penis . He roughly twisted his fingers into her short hair and yanked her forward to suck on the full length of cock. 

"Do you know there are people who would advocate that I tie you up and beat you and leave you in subspace for so long that you no longer have any will of your own? Frankly I don't have the time or energy for all of that. So here's what's going to happen." Sandra harshly thrust to the very back of John's throat over and over again, causing her to gag, never loosening his grip on her hair. His voice didn't waver in the slightest.

"You are going to demonstrate to me that you have some small smidgeon of self-discipline left in that damaged skull. You will leave here and go straight home. You will not greet any of the children or Cam when you get there. You will go to your room, take off your clothes, take off your synthetic leg, place your back against the wall, and put your hands up on the assist bar. You will wait for me in that position until I come to your room, however long that takes.

"When I do get home, if you fail to obey me with complete unconditional surrender, if you move at all or take your hands off the bar, if you utter even a single fucking sound, I promise the following will happen. First I will disown you and cast you out onto the streets, and ensure that you can never work for any public agency anywhere in this country. Second I will have your beloved DRN ripped to pieces and melted down for scrap metal. Third I will make your daughter an alpha tomorrow, and make sure she is put in with Charlie in the trials so he can slaughter her in the manner her dishonor deserves. Are you completely fucking clear on where you stand? You may nod."

He held her head still for the time necessary for her to nod, then shoved her off his cock onto the floor. Maldonado swiveled in his office chair so he didn't have to look at his wayward bondmate any longer, and Kennex picked herself up and ran out the door.

 

******

 

Rumors spread at the speed of electrons in a police precinct, and Val hurried over to their work area as soon as she got the text that something big was happening with Kennex. Paulo was standing there silently gloating, Maki's face was inscrutable, and Rudy and Dorian both looked equally horrified and shell-shocked. Val blinked at the scene of public humiliation beginning in Maldonado's unopaqued office.

Dorian didn't know what to do. "Do I have to stand here and watch this?" she murmured to Rudy. She gave Dorian a comforting pat on the shoulder.

"Yes. If you leave or turn away, you'll make it worse for her."

The android almost ran over to John when she emerged from Maldonado's office, but John gave a subtle nod no. She grabbed her coat and left the station without saying a word.

 

******

 

As instructed John drove straight home, the terror increasing in her chest by the minute. Sandra was normally a fairly mellow person, but when provoked he, like many alphas, could respond with astonishing cruelty and viciousness. That is what they were being _selected_ for, after all. John had no doubt Sandra would actually carry out all of his threats, once he had set a vow for it.

She ran up to their apartment, wishing there was some way to sneak inside without seeing Sarika, already home from school. John had thought about texting Cam ahead to keep the kids distracted, but thought that was probably not in the spirit of her punishment. As expected the little ones all ran over to see who was at the door so early in the workday. John didn't smile at them, didn't wave, didn't hand out treats. Sarika looked at her with hurt eyes that turned to fear, the little girl just old enough to realize something terrible was happening. John touched her face very briefly in apology, hoping to hell that didn't count as a "greeting," then turned and strode straight to her room.

Like most of the other bedrooms on the adult side, John's space was tiny, little more than the traditional mattress on the floor, a wardrobe closet for clothes, and a few shelves with some personal effects. Unlike the other three nestmates, she had no shrine to her disreputable switch ancestors, nor any photos of her family, not even the three oldest children killed in the trials. Besides the charger for her leg, there were no extraneous electronic devices in the room, nor any sign of any living thing. Usually when she entered she had a vague sense of longing for windows, sunlight, something beautiful like the bay or forest to look at upon awakening and muster up the energy to face another day. Rudy had offered many times to install a vid screen so she could look at whatever she wanted, but John always demurred. Somehow the blank walls were emblematic of how her soul felt, and John preferred to keep it realistic.

Today, however, she was grateful for the complete lack of distractions. She stripped down slowly, knowing it was the only thing left to do before sitting for a few likely painful hours. The room was suspiciously warm for the afternoon, which Cam had probably done as a small gesture of kindness. Rudy and Val were sure to have appraised her of the situation as John left the station. John stuck her leg on the charger, experiencing as she did every day that strange duel sensation, both that the limb was still there and stabbing with pain, and that it had just been chopped off again and vanished like smoke into the ether. She hopped the three paces to the futon on the floor, using the waist-height grab bars that were about to become her chains.

She settled on the floor and flexed her shoulders, then, taking a deep breath, took hold of the bar. John was far on the tall end of the spectrum for a human being, and had the slouch down in order for her head to clear the grab bar, a situation that was going to cause lower back discomfort before long. She closed her eyes and did her best to clear her mind and enter a meditative state.

Unlike most omegas, John had never been formally taught any of the mental tricks to successfully navigate her role as a submissive. Neither of her mothers were at the wedding, and even they had been they wouldn't have had a clue what to teach. During the bonding she had winged it, ending up just doing her best to obey and think about other things when the pain got unendurable. The whole affair was a haze of endorphins and sexual frustration and exhaustion, and the only part that John really remembered after the ceremony was the very end. When they were conjoined, when everything was suddenly quiet and gentle, when the elders finally left them alone and Sandra stroked her head and told her that she had done a fine job and it was all over for now. Only then had she really felt bonded, although she knew from some long gone health class that the actual moment had been earlier.

Later, after she moved in, Rudy had clued her in to some formal techniques to drop into subspace faster, John's preferred method of riding that strange roller coaster that was marital sexual intercourse. It was only in an altered state of consciousness that she could come, when pain was involved. Somehow John doubted that was going to be a consideration on this particular evening.

After a long bout of reminiscing, the pain in her arms and shoulders and back gave John something to focus on, and she was able to drift off. Her hands never left the bar.

 

******

 

Sandra left the office at the usual dinner hour, although he still had a mountain of work to plow through after completing all marital duties, pleasant and unpleasant. He was still pissed off at John for her unconscionable behavior. True, Paulo did tend to be a bit of a dick but that was zero excuse for public disrespect. Far worse, of course, was her uncontrolled outburst that undermined Maldonado's authority. If word began to spread that he could not control one of his very own bondmates, then it would be doubted whether he could control anyone at all. The status of the entire nest was at risk, so John needed to get in line or get out. Her injuries had admittedly been devastating, but the time for coddling was over.

Dinner was a tense event, with the adults trying to make small talk to avoid the looming subject on everyone's mind, and the kids confused that something was up and not knowing what it was. After eating Sarika asked, in a quavering voice, if she could go visit John and "help her be good." Sandra attempted a kindly reply, telling her that it wasn't her job to help her mother, and no she couldn't visit. John would come see her in the morning before school. The child had a lovely spirit; it would be a shame to see her life cut off now.

Finally he went down to John's room. Sandra considered leaving her for longer -- much longer -- but in truth he had no desire to see John actually fail the test. That would be a massive waste, a waste of John's life and the tremendous effort that had been put into bringing her back; a waste of Sarika's life; even a waste of resources over the DRN's existence, although he could hardly consider it a life. He _wanted_ her to do well, to heal, to come to peace with the fact that her friends and partner were dead and she was still alive. John had always had a psychologically restless personality, a trait that made her an excellent detective but a terrible omega. Sandra doubted she would ever be able to fully escape her defective switch upbringing, and as a consequence would struggle with her sexual role to the end of her days.

No matter. They were stuck with each other now, and Sandra would do everything in his power to guide his bondmate to act appropriately.

John appeared to be asleep when he entered the room, but her eyes snapped open when she heard the door shut. She gazed up at him without reproach or anger or fear, but with silent acceptance. A good indication she had mentally prepared herself for her punishment.

"John. What should I do with you? Do you have any idea what a pain the ass you've been, to both the department and me personally?" He took off his work jacket and tossed it near the door, then sat down on his knees in front of John's naked form on the futon. She hadn't twitched a muscle since Sandra entered the room, except to follow him with her eyes. "I have to ask myself sometimes why we bothered. Why did we bother to keep you on life support for two months? Palliative care for a mindless half-broken body for another sixteen? And why did you bother to do all of that physical therapy, all of that pain and sweat and frustration, just so you could piss it all away over your foolish pride?"

While he was speaking, Sandra reached over stroked her cock. Gently, with tenderness, so she was sure to get an erection even under the most trying circumstances. John's breathing sped up an imperceptible amount, but she kept her eyes locked on Sandra.

"Just as you had to relearn to walk, you have to relearn how to behave. How to obey. How to show respect. How to keep your fucking mouth shut despite whatever inappropriate commentary pops into that skull. You always were a wise-ass, John Kennex, but before you at least had some senseof when to lay it on and when to hold back."

He pulled the belt off his pants. John still didn't even glance at it, probably assuming a whipping was coming. Which was an arousing idea, but this wasn't a pleasure visit. He had no intention of letting her float away into subspace. Instead he wrapped the belt around the base of her erect penis, yanking it tight, far tighter than the safety tolerances of a modern cock ring.

John gasped for breath but managed not to vocalize anything. She rolled her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, trying to ride out the pain. Sandra darted a hand out and roughly pinch-twisted one of her nipples to snap her out of it.

 _"No._ Keep your eyes open. I want you to be aware for once, John. Pay attention to what your body tells you. Feel everything."

He got up and left her there for minute to retrieve something from his own room. John took advantage of the brief respite to mentally regroup. She was no stranger to pain, and not just from the shredded stump. The post-coma headaches had been almost as bad, stabbing affairs that hit at random and incapacitated her to the point of unconsciousness again. But all of that had been pain she could battle against, bitch about, take drugs to blissfully banish from her body. She had permission to _hate_ that pain, and no one ever said it was her duty to suck it up and somehow turn the horror into a pleasurable experience.

John suddenly realized how similar her current predicament was. She couldn't outright hate what was being done to her, not without irritting Sandra even further, but at last she didn't have to maintain a pretense that she liked it either. All she had to do was power through whatever sadistic crap he had in mind for a few hours at most, then be done. Frankly she didn't think Sandra had it in him to inflict more terrible agony than anything her body had already dished out.

Sandra came back with a pack of sterile needles and a lighter. John looked directly at him, still without fear, and put all of her concentration into her breathing. With every exhale she grabbed hold of a bit of the pain currently expanding in her cock, and released it into the air with her breath. A trick she learned from Stahl of all people, Little Miss Masochist herself.

For his part Sandra noted the determination and control evident on John's face. For all her faults, John had a stubborn streak that he admired. She never let things go and simply refused to roll over and die quietly. It was one of the reasons he had chosen her to become a bondmate despite her complete lack of respectable family history, although Sandra often rued the day when her mouth ran off inappropriately.

Sandra lit the heater and began warming up the needles. John's eyes didn't flicker in the slightest. For an instant Sandra entertained the notion of just letting her go now, since the point had been made. Valerie was waiting in the other room, highly aroused with only a few days left before ovulation. But certain forms needed to be maintained. For one thing, he had assured Paulo that Kennex would be punished, and Maldonado never went back on his word. So he ran one of the fine needles through the flame, and with deliberation threaded it through the upper edge of her left nipple. One, two, three folds, interwoven like sewing cloth. John _still_ didn't blink. Sandra ran his hands softly over her face, staring into those unwavering eyes.

"You want your daughter to live. You want your partner to live. You forced your own body to survive, so why can't your mind accept that and really live too? You have the capacity to accomplish so much, and yet are constantly undermining yourself by refusing to play by the rules. This is what I want you to think about, John. Think about what you really want to get out of your short existence on this planet, and how you'll need to change your behavior to achieve it."

He took a step back to kick off his pants, then straddled John's hips. The ache in her back increased exponentially with his weight on her, and a burning sensation began to shoot through John's abnormally swollen cock. John realized, with not a small amount of fear, that she could very well sustain serious injury to her penis if Sandra didn't release it soon, and maybe that's what he intended as punishment. It seemed horrifically cruel to permanently reduce her capacity for sexual pleasure -- and by extension, her ability to form an egg and reproduce -- merely for backtalk, but maybe that was really how cruel the world was nowadays. Sandra had a likely aleph, ten other kids and a younger omega ready and willing to contribute a few more. He had no need for John to be functional in the future.

Sandra took hold of her abused cock and guided it inside him. It took every shred of self-control for John not to groan, both from the pain and surprise. Sandra never was all that keen on being penetrated. It wasn't considered a very alpha thing to do, although of course there was no law against it, and John knew full well from the omega grapevine that there were plenty of alphas that enjoyed it in the privacy of their own homes. Sandra just didn't happen to be one of them. With dread she realized that this would significantly prolong the agony on her cock, as it could take forever for him to get off from penetration alone.

He moved slowly at first, gauging her reaction, but quickly built up to a fast pace when it became clear John wasn't going to budge. Sandra knew he needed to release her member very soon, but there was something in the situation that was a very powerful aphrodisiac, something he rarely felt except at the bondings. To hold someone's life and future in your hands, to push her to the outermost excruciating limits, to just take whatever you want, without regard or even against the other person's desires.

The pain in her penis had reached new burning heights, except for a strip down the right side which was ominously numb. John was panting now, struggling hard not close her eyes or moan. The irrational part of her brain was screaming to _end it,_ shove her bondmate away and rip the belt off, and try to mitigate the consequences in some other way. She forced herself to think about sweet Sarika, and Dorian, although the idea of the latter in any way connected with painful sex was revolting to her. Stahl's breath exercise wasn't working, so John switched to another tactic, that of counting down from ten over and over, telling herself she only had to endure the torture for ten seconds before starting the count again.

At last Sandra began to speed up, a sign John took to mean he was close to coming. The numbness had begun to spread, which would have been a relief except for the cold knowledge that it probably meant nerve damage. John's back hurt, her arms hurt, the pierced nipple was on fire, the implant in her thigh was complaining from the weight uncontrollably, everything hurt hurt hurt, but still John hung on, almost on the verge of fainting into subspace despite her eyes being open. Finally Sandra took his own cock in his hand and finished himself off, then collapsed forward onto her in one final insult to her abused body.

After a minute or so to recover, Sandra got up off John and released the belt, which unfortunately did little to relieve the pressure there. "We're done now, you can move and speak again," he said softly. John didn't budge as he prepared to leave.

Just as he was nearly out the door, John croaked in a faint voice, "Why did you bother?"

"Why did I bother to do what?"

"Why did you save me, when you could have just pulled the plug and let me die?"

"Because your life was worth saving, John. I know you don't believe that, but it's true." And he turned around and walked out.

John waited a full two minutes before finally daring to take her hands off the bar. It had been five hours in that grueling position. The muscles in her arms felt like immobile tree stumps, but as she moved them around the pins and needles of restored sensation appeared. She extricated the bloody needle and tossed it into a garbage bin, and scooted down to lie flat on her back in bed. She didn't want to look or even think about the state of her cock right now.

A light knock came at the door. John was unsurprised that it was Rudy checking on her, and a little more surprised that Allen was there too. John covered herself with a blanket and nodded for them to come in. They both padded in softly and lay down on either side of her.

"You okay?"

"I think so. I'll have Dorian run a scan on certain sensitive parts tomorrow, which I'm sure she'll gleefully enjoy."

"Do you need some water, or a snack, or maybe another blanket?" That was Allen, sounding unusually worried. John wondered if the pre-wedding nerves were starting in on her.

"I really am fine, thanks for the moral support though. I don't know if you should be in here at this point, chickadee. Hormones and all."

"Oh yeah, you're very jumpable in your current state of disarray." She lay her head down on John's shoulder as they all chuckled. "Sorry, I was just reading up ... you know, on the whole aftercare thing."

 _Which Sandra just skipped out on,_ John thought. He knew Rudy would cover it though, and honestly given the circumstances John preferred it that way too. One of the nice perks of being one of the later bondmates, you didn't always have to deal with the alpha for everything.

"Don't worry hon, Stahlo's got five more ahead of you, so there's plenty of people to help out if you need extra support."

"Does it hurt a lot, at the bonding?" She _was_ getting nervous. John and Rudy glanced at each other, silently conferring on how much to say. Her question was impossible to answer, because it depended entirely on what the alpha felt like inflicting, and how far the elders present would let him go.

Rudy spoke up. "There's so many endorphins and crazy pheromones happening that it's hard to say how much you'll actually experience as pain. You've been practicing all your exercises, right?" She nodded. "There you go, you'll be fine. But you should always remember you can use your safeword."

"He won't hold it against me later, if I say it in front of the elders?"

Rudy and John exchanged another silent look. Both of them had done some investigations as the wedding approached, talking to the other bondmates and even Val, and both had come to the conclusion that Victor Stahlo was _exactly_ the sort of alpha that would consider his very young bride's public use of a safeword as a personal rebuke. But they couldn't tell her that. If she held out too long for fear of using it, she could be badly injured. One of the points of the bonding ceremony was for the alpha to learn the limits of the omega, under reasonably safe and controlled circumstances.

"Of course not, why would we have safewords if you can't use it?"

"What did you pick as your safeword?"

"Oh child, that was a million years ago. How should I remember?" John suppressed a grin, for in truth nobody ever forgot theirs. Even though it had been years since either one of them had thought to use it. "Okay, fine, you weaseled it out of me. Mine was 'pineapple'."

 _"Pineapple?"_ The other two couldn't help but laugh.

"Yes, an excellent choice I think. Breaks the serious mood if you need it. Plus you'll never blurt that one out on accident during sex."

"What was yours, John?"

"A lot more pathetic than 'pineapple', is all I'm going to say." A wave of fatigue rolled over John as the adrenaline began to wear off. "Allen, I'm getting pretty tired. Time for you to go back to your room. I want to talk to your mom for a couple of minutes before I drift off, okay?"

"All right, good night everybody."

When she was gone, Rudy rubbed John's aching shoulders. "How are you really doing?"

"I don't know. How does my cock look? I'm almost afraid to find out."

Rudy flipped up the blanket briefly. "Eh, it's still really purple and partially erect. Doesn't look too comfortable. Do you want me to suck it off for you?"

"Naw, I'll take my lumps. Thanks though. I'll take care of it in the morning if it's still an issue." She curled up and buried her face in her pillow, exhaustion about to overcome her.

"He went too far. You could have real damage from this. Why didn't he stop sooner?"

"Seemed to be having too much fun," John replied, more bitterly than she intended. She started to shake as the drop proceeded, feeling more and more cold. Rudy found a thicker blanket to put over them, and curled up against John's back for contact and warmth.

"You could have actually used your safeword. I think it would have been justified under the circumstances."

"No. I didn't even consider it. Didn't you hear outside the office what he threatened to do? Sarika, Dorian. No, no, no." Her words were starting to slur. Rudy pulled the blanket even tighter and gently rubbed her neck.

"Shhh, you should sleep now. I'll stay until you're really asleep."

"M'kay. Thanks. Rudy, do you know what my safeword was?"

"What?"

"Mercy."

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

The next morning John met Dorian at Rudy's lab, an desanctified temple festooned with stained glass windows, electric lights and random pop culture memorabilia. Not for the first time she was grateful that Dorian no longer lived at the station. The lab wasn't really private, with video surveillance inside and out, but at least there was minimal chance of running into Maldonado or Paulo. Dorian abruptly stood up when John walked in, her face broadcasting relief and worry and stress.

"Are you...?"

"Come on, I need some coffee. Let's go for a walk."

They exited the building, careful to keep a neutral, non-intimate distance. John was constantly terrified of tipping someone they knew off to their true relationship. Especially since Dorian wore her feelings on her sleeve. One would think a robot would have a decent poker face, but no.

"Are you okay?" She managed to keep her voice neutral too, to John's relief.

"I'll survive. And so will you now."  
"Is Sarika okay too?"

"She was still pretty upset this morning but I think I convinced her that my 'bad behavior' will not be repeated. Which it won't for the foreseeable future. Which brings me to ... Can we sit down for a minute?" They both plopped down on a park bench, out in open, trying to look like they were having a casual conversation. "Dorian, we have to stop fooling around, at least for a little while. I don't know if you could hear, but Sandra threatened to turn Sarika into an alpha. I can't ... I can't risk that. There's only a little over a week until the deadline for the winter Trials, and she'll be too old by summer. We've got to keep our hands off each other until then. Okay?"

"Of course John, whatever you think is best. What about the wedding, though? It's after the deadline."

"I want more than anything to smuggle you in, but I don't see how it will be possible. There's got to be thousands of cameras in the four clicks between the lab and the hotel."

"But if I plan out a safe route, you'll let me in? I have some ideas."

"You know I wouldn't think of keeping you out if you made it to the hotel, Dorian. Please, _please,_ don't get caught." The very thought of a whole uninterrupted night with her made John a little hard with need, which was a most unwelcome occurrence at that juncture. She squirmed on the park bench, trying to will the ache away.

Dorian narrowed her eyes at her partner's discomfort. "Are you _sure_ you are all right?"

"Not sure, unfortunately. It's not like I can go to a doctor. That shit's reportable." Columbia Province's worst well-intentioned law, the mandatory reporting requirement for certain types of damage on omegas. Naturally the primary result was that said abused spouses refused to see anyone about their injuries. There were underground clinics for that sort of thing down in the same switchy part of town the two were in yesterday, but no way was John going to risk it.

Dorian tipped her head to the side, so John knew she was scanning her. John didn't ask for it, but she didn't say no either.

"There's damage to the second penile nerve, but the vascular structure appears to be intact. You'll regain all function, I believe, but there might be some residual numb spots."

"Thanks, doc." That could have come out snarky, but John was genuinely grateful.

"It should go without saying that you need to avoid any sort of constricted blood flow in that region."

"Yeah, no cock rings for me if I have any say over it. Are you telling me to jerk off or not jerk off? I can't tell."

"I recommend you do not deliberately try to get an erection for a few days, but if one does happen you should gently masturbate." Dorian voice sounded amused at her sudden elevation to medical professional.

"Can I ... think about whatever I want during this gentle masturbation?" John wasn't even looking at her, but let the back of their hands in between them the touch. Just a little, the slightest touch. Dorian's cheek flickered red for second, then she too looked away.

"Well the nerve damage doesn't extend to your brain, John." They were both smiling like fools now, and John knew she needed to pull away, because anyone looking at tape of the two of them would be able to tell. It was so obvious, and so hard to stop.

"Dorian, can I ask you a question?"

"Anything."

"Why do you want to be with me? I'm barely held together with spit and duct tape."

"The fact that they will stick me back in cold dead storage without you is a major motivating factor."

"Right, but that only explains why you want to be my partner. Not _involved_ with me, when it could very well put you in a hanging bag in the lab."

"I think I love you, John."

_"What?"_

"I said I ..."

"I _heard_ you Dorian, but ... I don't think you are using that word correctly."

Love was that feeling parents and children had for each other. The only time it referred to bondmates was in crappy pre-puberty romance novels. The idea was that the alpha of your dreams was going to swoop in and fall madly in love with you, bond you out of a deep sense of devotion as the One and Only True Mate, and magically take care of all of your emotional and physical needs for the rest of your life. Really rather switchy if people actually thought about it, which they didn't given the genre's high propaganda value to young omegas. Most adolescents were disabused of the notion when they were moved to the adult side and found out what their parents were really up to.

"What word should I use?"

"I don’t know, lust? Infatuation? Horndoggery?"

"No, I definitely feel more than just sexual attraction to you." She sounded thoughtful, like it was a matter of serious analysis.

John pulled her hand away at last. "I'll think about the terminology. Meanwhile we should go get coffee for real, and go over those Lino reports. You know, work. We've got to keep ourselves under control until the wedding."

"Until the wedding, then."

 

******

 

Three days later, John officially couldn't take listening to Sandra and Val a minute longer. The rougher part of the heat was winding down, but the previous night the noise had gotten to the point that John finally decamped for a couch in the living room -- only to find that Rudy and Allen had already beaten her to the comfortable spots. Sandra followed the classical style to mating, one that was time-tested to be successful at fertilization. Earlier in the week there was a crescendo of brutality, followed by a half day or so of gentle lovemaking immediately prior to the conjoining. The hurt-comfort pattern resulted in a sudden drop in stress levels and cortisol and an inverse spike in oxytocin, both hormonal conditions conducive to proper egg formation. Valerie was nearing the comfort phase of the heat cycle.

Nevertheless, John _had_ to get out of the oppressive apartment. When she woke up she locked eyes with Rudy, who was clearly thinking the same thing. Rudy mercifully took Allen and Jaden on some wedding-related errands, while John took Sarika and Martie out for lunch. Afterward she brought the girls over to the lab to say hi to Dorian, who was stuck alone for the weekend. Dorian was ludicrously happy to have human contact, running up and hugging both smiling girls.

"Hey, don't crush them now." Dorian grinned at her partner over their short heads.

"Do you girls want to see what I've been working on? I need some volunteer beta testers." They both nodded and he solemnly brought them over in front of a large motion-capture screen that sparkled and swirled. "It's a video game! I'll put in on the 'young child' setting."

 _"This_ is what you work on after hours?"

"It was Rudy's idea. She thought I needed a project to keep my mind occupied. Plus if it takes off we could earn a little money."

She demonstrated the concept for the girls, which was surprisingly intuitive for a game invented by a bot. Soon the kids were swiveling and jumping and blowing up colorful abstract patterns, thoroughly distracted. John gestured with her head, directing Dorian to a work table far enough away they couldn't hear them talking.

"How's your ... how are you feeling today?

"Better, just a some dead spots down the right side, like you thought." They sat next to each other, but not too close for the cameras. John yawned. "Sorry, I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, and tonight won't be any better."

"Are they almost done?"

"Sandra's bit yes, Val no. The hard part for her is tomorrow."

Dorian inched a tiny bit closer, and caressed her leg underneath the table. Her real leg. "Yours is in three weeks. Are you in any condition to do this?" Her speech was barely above a whisper, so the cameras would have a hard time picking it up.

"What other option is there? I can't stop biology."

"You could say no. Say you won't mate. He's not supposed to force you."

"That's not an option, Dorian. He's not supposed to force me but I'm not supposed to say no either. I have no standing in that household at the moment. Any sign of disobedience and I will be out. And so will you."

"Couldn't you just ask him to skip the rough part and go straight to the end? I think your chances of fertilization are just as good, maybe better."

John sighed and intertwined their fingers together over the leg. "If I were Rudy I might be able to get away with that, but I'm not. Why are you asking me all of this stuff? You know what the answers will be. My position is no better than a bride in training. I have no choice but to submit to prove myself."

Dorian massaged her fingers back. "I hate to see you in pain, or even imagine it. You don't _like_ it. Why do you have to submit to something you don't like, and never liked? What does that _prove?_ "

Before John could argue the point of what the hell Dorian knew about what she liked, Rudy and the older girls unexpectedly came through the door. John jumped and quickly pulled her hand up over the table. Too quickly. Apparently being a detective didn't prevent one from displaying incriminating behavior.

Rudy smiled at them and appeared not to notice. "Hey everybody. The girls wanted to test out Dorian's final product. Get the teenage demographic. Perhaps you can demonstrate for them?" Dorian enthusiastically waved them over to the view screen for some constructive criticism, and get the elementary school demographic's opinion as well. ("Cool game, Dorian!")

John was about to get up and take a stretch when Rudy said in a very low voice, "I hope you know what you're doing."

John stared at her with resignation, not apprehension, for she knew Rudy of all people wouldn't betray them despite her close relationship with Sandra. She adored Dorian, for one thing. And didn't hate John either. "You know I never know what I'm doing with my personal life. Just winging it as usual."

"One of these days, very soon, you're going to have to choose which life you want to have. You can't have both for very long."

 _Choose?_ What choice was there but to soldier on? John whispered, "I know it's risky but she's just so ... gentle and kind and beautiful. I don't know how to stop."

"The DRNs were based on a model that was designed to be responsive and reflective of their partner's desires. If you wanted a whip-wielding dominant, she could be that too. She's kind and gentle because that's what you really want from your mate."

John couldn't take what that line of thought implied about her sexuality. Not yet. So she changed the subject. "They designed them to latch on and change themselves for their partners? That seems like such a fucking terrible idea for a group of cops."

Rudy shrugged. "Well the Alpha Council agrees with you, now. At the time it didn't seem so weird. We humans are essentially a pair-bonding species, it's only natural that would come out in our synthetic beings too."

"What, you mean everybody?" John was skeptical, to say the least. "The alphas don't even bond properly. They definitely don't pair-bond. That's the entire point of an alpha."

"Nevertheless, you may have noticed that even they have their preferred bondmate. Although they refuse to admit it, of course."

They were both speaking hardly above a whisper, for it wasn't the sort of conversation that was considered in good taste, especially in front of children. John thought about the point for a few seconds. It was true; in every single nest of which she knew all the members, the alpha had one omega that they were emotionally attached to the most. Usually the first. The pattern was widely known but often dismissed as a by-product of the intimacy couples shared when they were young and poor and had very few nestlings to take care of. Alphas were expected to grow out of it as they accumulated more bondmates. In Maldonado's case the story was complicated by his new-found attachment to Valerie, but that may have been more the thrill of having a pretty young sexual plaything than any emotional connection.

"Great theory, Rudy, but it doesn't help my dilemma any. If we're so pair-bonding, and not just for reproduction, then why do I feel more for an artificial human being than I do my real bondmate?"

There. She admitted it out loud for the first time. She didn't know whether to embrace it or hang her head in shame.

"Only you can answer that, John. Make a choice. Soon."

"Seriously, how can you say all this when your lovely rishon is about to be married off next week? Wife number six, to someone more than twice her age? Don't you want her to have at least the sort of intimacy that you had when you were bonded?"

Rudy turned away to give a brief heartbreaking glance at Allen.

"I know. I'm afraid for her."

 

******

 

At the apartment that evening, it was a relatively quiet dinner. Cam's discrete spying on the mating couple revealed that they were at last conjoined, that strange physiological state where an alpha's penis adhered inside his ovulating partner, rendering the couple immobile for a couple of hours. Sandra would probably be out in an hour or so and be ravenous; Valerie would hopefully sleep partially into the night before they had to move her to the incubation room.

Besides those two, Charlie was still at the Academy, training nearly all his waking hours now, while Jaden had been in her room for the evening with a stomach ache. Rudy took Allen to her now-daily hormone checks and then dropped her off at her paternal grandparents' apartment for the night. There was longstanding custom that soon-to-be brides should not be in close contact with someone ovulating, for fear it may trigger her own ovulation early. And when a fifty-thousand-credit social event hinged on a girl's ovulation occurring on schedule, people got superstitious.

So it was a pleasantly mellow meal with just Cam, John and the little ones. John was helping her load the dishes when Cam's phone beeped.

"Sandra's out and in the shower. That means we've got to wake Val up at three am."

"Do you have secret transponders on all of us, that you always know exactly what we're doing?" Cam laughed. "That's a martha secret I'm not allowed to reveal. Be up by 2:45, I'll have coffee ready."

"All right, I'm reading the munchkins a story and then getting some sleep. See you in a few."

John managed to avoid Sandra altogether, as she had for the previous four days.

 

******

 

At 2:30 John woke up to her phone's insistent beeping. She groggily dragged herself up and stuck on the leg, and stumbled out to the kitchen for the promised coffee with Cam and Rudy. Jaden was awake too, looking a little green around the gills but determined to help out. She had seen several layings, but none that was an omega's first time. All three of Val's previous matings had ended without proper shell formation. This time promised to be different.

Cam activated the lights in Val's room at a dim twenty percent, and they all entered. Valerie was fully unclothed and still asleep on her left side, her lower abdomen promisingly extended. The room was set at a sweltering thirty degrees, so between that and the pheromones, sweat, semen and blood all over the mattress, it looked and smelled like scene from a horror show.

"Is ... is she okay?" Jaden shivered as she took in all the blood. She hadn't been allowed on the adult side for clean-up before. The other three had noted at a glance that the lacerations on her back and chest were minor, but then they knew what to expect.

"She'll be fine, it's just messy, honey," Cam soothed. "Come here, I'll show you how to palpate the egg." They both kneeled in front of Val's unconscious form, and Cam pressed on the egg ever so slightly at key points, assessing its size, shape, shell thickness and unity of form. She nodded at the others that it was worth going for incubation.

John and Rudy got behind Valerie, to restrain her in case she flailed in disorientation, while Cam leaned over her face to gently wake her up. Jaden stood by with a pre-warmed robe for the walk to the other side of the apartment.

"Val. Valerie, honey, time to wake up." Cam ran her fingers down her face, then shook her by the jaw just rigorously enough to get her to open her eyes. As expected she jerked violently, for Val never awakened gracefully even under less trying circumstances, but John was able to prevent her from rolling onto her stomach. "There. Yeah. That's it, just relax." Cam kept stroking her cheek until her eyes focused.

"Does the egg look good?" Val finally croaked.

"Yup. Straighten your legs out now, we're going to get you up." The three adults awkwardly hauled her up, without too much bending at the waist that could crush the egg. Jaden put the white fluffy towel around her shoulders and Val gratefully wrapped it around herself like a blanket. Supported by John on one side and Cam on the other, she slowly shuffled over to the children's side of the flat.

The incubation room was yet another tiny bedroom just off of Cam's room. It currently contained only the incubation chamber and a special reclining chair that would keep Valerie upright while still making it easy to catch the egg. This room too was was set with stifling heat, so the others quickly stripped down to their shorts once they got Val settled in the chair.

Then all they had to do was wait, and keep the would-be mother calm.

"Do you want anything to eat or drink, sweetie?"

"Some juice would fantast... _oh!"_ She nearly tipped forward from the contraction of the oviduct muscles, instinctively guarding herself form the sharp pain, but John and Rudy were able to hold her back. "It feels like I should push on it. I shouldn't push, right?"

"Never push, no matter what it feels like. Just let your muscles do their thing. Your body knows what to do. Jaden, get her some cold juice, please."

The contractions came and went, on thirty seconds pulses. Everyone did their best to keep her at peace, or at least amused and her mind off her body. Rudy sang soft songs from her faraway homeland, Cam kept massaging her back and shoulders, John dished all the best gossip from the precinct and made some up to boot. Jaden looked increasingly pale through the night, but still acted as everyone's gopher for water or refreshments. Occasionally Val fell into subspace, which was fine as long as she slipped out of it without sudden movement or stress. As the hours went by the egg slipped down in minuscule increments until the the widest circumference was engaged in her pelvis. The most dangerous point, for if the angle of delivery were off, the shell would crack against her bones.

Cam and John helped prop her up by her arms to a full squatting position, while Rudy took point on catching the egg.

"Okay, toughest part kiddo. I know it feels like the biggest shit imaginable, but you must not push. Just let the motile contractions move it through the pelvis." Rudy, who had successfully done it fourteen times.

Valerie wasn't screaming or moaning, just breathing hard and concentrating on the pain, through the pain, with each thirty second slippage. All of the mental exercises for sex could also be brought to bare on the task, for it required much the same focus and dissociation. The egg slipped through the bony outlet, leaving only the perineum to pass through.

"Hey, has anyone seen Jaden? She's been in the bathroom an awfully long time." As if on cue, there was a shriek from down the hall. John, as the strongest of the three, took over propping up Valerie while Cam went to check on her daughter. She found her doubled up in pain on the floor next to the toilet, staring in horror at the contents of the bowl. There was a lot of slimy albumin, a little blood and many bits of unformed turquoise shell floating around in the water.

"Oh honey, you're not dying, it's just the first ovulation. That's what it looks like." And she wrapped her arms around her head to calm her down. "I've got to get back to Val, do you still want to join us, or maybe go to bed and rest?"

In a tiny voice the teenager replied, "I'll come, I want to see. I was just surprised. I didn't think it would hurt like that."

"Yeah. Use some warm wet towels on yourself, you'll feel better." She helped her clean herself up, then the two of them rejoined the the others in the incubation room. Everybody could hear what was said but they let Jaden announce it.

"I, uh, guess there was more than one egg tonight." They all beamed, even Valerie, who was using every last ounce of self-control not to push.

"Hey, welcome to the January Ovulation Club, kid. It's the best month," John said, winking. Her back and leg were on fire from Val's weight, but no way was she dropping her now. "You're like, practically at the same time as Allen, she'll be so excited to hear."

Val's breathing became ragged again, and they all refocused their attention on her as the egg pressed against the perineum. "One more, I think that will do it. Don't push." On the next contraction Cam's words were proven true, and the egg finally popped free without any tearing. It was twelve centimeters long and a beautiful deep reddish-brown with darker flecks, shiny, the shell still slightly pliable. Cam immediately transferred it into the incubator.

Valerie flung herself back in the chair with relief, hugging John and Rudy. "I did it, finally!"

"You did fantastic, hon. Why don't you take a shower while I clean up your room? It's a disaster zone in there. The rest of you, off to bed." Cam waved them off over protestations. It was after seven and the younger kids were all starting to wake up. John, for once, had no trouble obeying orders.

 

******

Two days later an ultrasound was performed to check on fertilization. There was no zygote. Valerie's egg was yet again infertile.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mentally cast Victor Stahlo as Michelle Forbes, circa her turn as Admiral Cain in BSG: Razor.

John managed to keep her word, and stayed away from Dorian in the days leading up to the wedding. They met again at the lab two days before the big event, ostensibly to go over some of the cases Dorian was going to review while John was on leave, but in reality to go over Dorian's plan to sneak over the hotel for the after party. Dorian was going to walk the entire way, via a convoluted route that avoided the worst of MX patrols and advertisement-heavy areas. What would have been a three mile car ride morphed into a seven-mile hike, one which would not avoid all cameras -- such a thing was impossible within the city -- but it would break up Dorian's path enough that it would not be obvious that it was the same DRN walking the entire way. The most dangerous part was right by the hotel itself, in one of Vancouver's upscale business districts. There was no avoiding getting on camera there. John considered obtaining some flashmask for the two of them, but decided that would be more suspicious than just going without and sneaking around. Plausible deniability. Acting like a criminal was the easiest way to get caught as a criminal.

The actual wedding festivities started the day before the bonding. For wedding like Allen's, a joining of two respectable alpha families, the first event occurred the morning before, when the bride visited the shrines of her ancestors, to pay respect and ask for a blessing on the union. Next was the parents' luncheon, in which both families dined at the home of groom, to get to know each other. Afterward the bride moved her things into her new room, as a preliminary welcome into the household. For young alphas this event did in fact involve both sets of parents, but for a later bride like Allen it ended up being an socializing opportunity for the wives to size each other up.

John had met Victor Stahlo and his other wives on several other occasions, including of course of Valerie's own wedding festivities. Stahlo was one of the nation's most respected anthropologists, specializing in the historical origin and cultural spread of the alphas. He had trained his eldest daughter in the same field, who had obeyed her father's wishes but chafed at academia. Sandra wanted a social anthropologist for her team, a practical application for her degree that appealed to Val, and Allen wanted to study anthro herself. So a daughter swap was arranged, with Allen's half to be consummated when she reached appropriate college age. And here they all were three years later, stiffly sipping tea at an impeccably set table, and eying Stahlo's highly composed young acquisition.

The formal air of the luncheon, and the wedding overall, was a vast contrast with John's own bonding twelve years ago. She had no family in attendance and no respectable ancestors to pay homage to, so the whole event turned into a giant Bureau block party. Kennex wasn't just getting married to then-Lieutenant Maldonado, but was also getting a promotion to detective in the bargain, so the event served as a professional congratulatory party. John's friends from both the academy and the precinct had dragged her on a somewhat sacrilegious ancestor tour of the great Commissioners of Old, then led a drunken parade down Vancouver's streets hauling all of John's crap from her tiny apartment over to Sandra's more spacious spread. Rudy and Martin had been ringleaders, of course. Tea was not served.

At the current luncheon everyone was seated at a incredibly long table, arranged in descending order of respect. At the head was an impeccably dressed Allen, temporarily bumped up as the guest of honor. Then, seated across from one another, were the two families about to be joined for a second time. Sandra, Rudy, John, Valerie and a wriggling Charlie sat on one side; Victor, three of his wives including Val's mother, and his thirteen-year-old aleph on the other side. The two marthas, Jaden, and a giant contingent of well-behaved little ones were all ranked lower than the alpha offspring and seated much further down the table.

One of Stahlo's wives was missing, pointedly unremarked upon by everyone present. Val had heard she was in the cubes, for damaging three newly fertilized eggs. She couldn't stand to see yet more children born just to be sent to the slaughter six years later. Technically this was no more than a misdemeanor, even though some of the eggs were not her own, but Stahlo had the book throw at her. To make a point.

Victor Stahlo looked like a taller version of Valerie, with long silky black hair and olive skin. Unlike Val's quiet demeanor, however, her father made an imposing figure, physically and psychologically. He was holding forth on one of his favorite topics, the cultural superiority of the alphas and the system that produced them, as they all nibbled on pastries.

"The Trials are a form of directed evolution, selecting for greater intelligence with each generation. Without that selection pressure the increases in technology over the past two thousand years would not have happened. We'd all still be living in mud huts in small villages like the switches. In fact I'd argue that we need some sort of screening process for those that are left as omegas. Most of the omegas survive simply because they are the youngest, and their sentimental mothers want at least one to raise. With both sides being selected, evolution would proceed even faster."

"What about the chrome objection?" Allen spoke up. "Now that we have the ability to directly genetically engineer fetuses, perhaps it is a waste of resources to kill ninety percent of all children after raising them for six years."

John had to give her bravery points for laying down an opinion contrary to her future bondmate's, but minus about a thousand for being reckless right before the wedding. Rudy right next to her was probably thinking the same thing. John knew Allen needed to maintain some semblance of her own identity after bonding, but now was not the time to attempt that. And in fact Stahlo had a predatory smile on his face that indicated he was both impressed that she stood up to him, and immensely looking forward to breaking her of every shred of independent thought.

"The problem with genetic engineering, my dear, is that we do not know all of the factors that go into producing a superior human being. There are too many alleles involved, too many interactions between all those genes. By selecting for the behavior directly we conserve everything advantageous in one fell swoop, without having to know the genetic details."

Allen didn't continue arguing with him, but her expression indicated that she wasn't automatically submitting either. John suddenly realized that she knew exactly what she was doing, knew what his response would be and was merely testing it.

John had to wonder if he would succeed in breaking her. Or if the great Victor Stahlo would blink first.

The rest of the luncheon passed with only meaningless pleasantries exchanged. Then Stahlo and Maldonado retired to discuss some remaining details for the ceremony the following day, while the omegas made a show of bringing Allen's things into her new room. It was the last time all of them except Rudy would get a moment alone with her before the bonding, and perhaps forever.

John was the last to say goodbye. She gave her a big hug, Allen's head barely making it to John's chest. It was hard to believe the day had finally come. John remembered when she first met her, as a miniature seven-year-old at a very different wedding party so long ago. Allen had stared her down with her gray eyes and solemnly informed her father, "I like her. Good choice." Everyone laughed.

Today John only parting words were, "Don't be too stubborn, Allen. You're an omega, you'll have to give in occasionally."

"We'll see. Thank you for everything, John. I hope you have a happy ending too."

 

******

 

The next day the main party started around lunch again, this time for a crowd of five hundred. It was tradition before the public bonding ceremony to feed the bride and groom at a huge banquet, and keep them entertained and merry against any worries about what would happen later. Allen and Victor were seated at an elevated table like the queens of legend, flanked by their parents and grandparents. The guest filed by in waves, gifting them with jokes and pranks and congratulations. This was also the party that children were invited to and allowed to roam free, so there was great deal of laughter and silly dancing and games in addition to mountains of food. Allen endured it all with grace, although she was starting to look very flushed by the end. The ovulation was rolling near, and her discomfort and arousal had to be increasing exponentially no matter how hard the guests worked to keep her joyous.

At last the announcement for the public bonding ritual went out, and the whole crowd dutifully rounded up their kids and filed into yet another tastefully decorated ballroom. There the blessings were exchanged, and the vows. The omega vowed to honor her spouse, obey the alpha in all things, and trust that he would always provide for her best interests. The alpha also vowed to honor his spouse, provide for her material and mental well-being, and direct her behavior to the best of his abilities.

Finally there was the collaring. Allen knelt before Victor, hands voluntarily behind her back and head bowed in submission, while he attached the inscribed band. John was appalled, but not surprised, to see it was one of the new keyed polymer collars instead of the traditional metal band. This particular collar was chemically bonded to the alpha so that only he could remove it. Apparently omegas were not to be trusted with control over their own collars any longer.

The collaring concluded the public ceremonies. Now the bride and groom retired to a private room, for the mating to occur. They were accompanied by a group of alphas known as the elders, including the fathers and grandfathers of the couple and other prominent friends of the families. The elders had ultimate control over the bonding, their presence meant to ensure the groom did not push his bride too far.

The rest of the guests broke up, divided by age and sex. Children and unbonded omegas were sent home, while the alphas not invited to the actual bonding had their own party next door. John never heard what exactly the alphas got up to at their engagement. She imagined it involved hundred-year-old scotch, illegal smoking, smirky jokes about the deflowering going on next door, and whole a lot of card playing.

That left the bonded omegas, who had their own fun in a private bout of debauchery euphemistically known as the after party. John went down to the to have a drink, trying to drown out the thought of the young person trying to learn how to orgasm while someone whipped her and called her a slut, and waited for Dorian to arrive.

 

******

 

By nine-thirty the after party was in full orgiastic swing, but John could only watch the ballroom nervously from the sidelines, nursing a scotch. The late-night event was an ancient wedding tradition, supposedly originating all the way back before the alpha mutation, according to those who believed in such a thing. It was an event noted for its complete lack of inhibitions. While the bride began her trial of submission on the floor above, the other omegas released the vast corpus of psychological anxieties about the event in the form of a balls-to-the-walls sexual and intoxication extravaganza. For obvious reasons the party was stringently restricted to bonded omegas, for whom accidental pregnancy or inappropriate attachment was no longer possible, no matter what sexual escapades they engaged in.

John was about to test out the latter theory. The wait for Dorian left ample time for angsty soul-searching, and John wondered for the hundredth time what the hell was wrong with her. Had her own bonding somehow gone terribly awry, and that fact was just now coming out? It didn't seem possible, what with five successful conceptions under her belt. But faced with the reality of what was going to happen that night, John could no longer bury the raw truth from herself: She would rather mate with a robot, someone who wasn't even _real,_ than her own bonded spouse. As her ovulation ground closer by the day, John realized it wasn't just a matter of passing attraction, or emotional friendship riddled with hormones, but a burning desire to somehow undo her bond and become linked with someone else.

Over the past few days, John had been plagued with sexual daydreams intruding on her thoughts at the most inappropriate times.. The fantasies were a symptom of the impending heat, a little detail John had forgotten in the three years since the last one. She imagined that Dorian was an alpha, and it was the two of them, not Allen, that were getting bonded. Only it wasn't an alpha wedding, but a switch one.

The switch bonding ceremonies were superficially similar to the culturally dominant alpha rituals, at least leading up to the big event. They had the ancestor ceremony and the parents' luncheon and a public declaration of the bonding. However, since odds were the two omegas had their heats at different times of the year, there were two matings up to six months apart. Instead of collars there were rings, inscribed with name of one's beloved and exchanged at both bondings, so that switches ended up with two rings, one on the index finger of both hands. For the actual bondings the tradition was to isolate the couple in some secluded location, with select friends and family posted as guards against interruptions. In many switch ethnic groups, including John's distantly remembered one, it was still the practice to keep the location a secret, a remnant of the long centuries in which the capture and rape of an ovulating unbonded omega by an alpha was a terrifyingly realistic possibility.

In these more civilized times families usually just rented a pretty cottage in some rural location, and it was in this setting John put her fantasy. She imagined a beautiful sunny house with a deep bathtub and bay windows overlooking a forest and a lake, and a private courtyard filled with summer flowers despite the fact that her ovulation was in January. A buffet with days' worth of finger foods and fruit juices was set up to assist with the rigors of the heat. John imagined that she and Dorian made out in the back of the car on the entire drive to the cottage, unable to keep their hands off one another, their friends up front giving them knowing smiles at how in love and oblivious the newlyweds were. Once inside they languidly removed all their clothes, whereupon Dorian took her in every room in the house: On the futon in the main room, up against a wall, outside on the grass, bent over the kitchen sink, and finally back on the mattress for the final ecstatic push towards conjoinment. Then they would lie together for hours, basking as one while the egg formed, Dorian not even pulling out until long after the knot subsided. Dorian would encourage her as the egg slowly descended, feeding her orange juice and making her laugh the whole time. When the egg was born they would lie with it between themselves, incubating it the old-fashioned way, bringing into the world a child born out of a union of utter devotion, one that wouldn't be thrown away like a piece of meat tossed to a lion.

It had to be the most delusional fantasy John had ever thought of. Even when she was a mooning teenager she had never daydreamed anything that sickeningly romantic. Really, what the hell was wrong with her?

John's phone chimed, and it was the long-awaited text from Dorian. _Report done, hope you're having fun at the wedding._ Their code for her arrival at the south service entrance. John abandoned her drink and dashed down the stairs. Dorian was waiting patiently on a loading dock, her hair and clothes soaked from walking miles in the rain. John had to resist the urge to join her in the dankness and begin kissing her slimy face. Instead she pulled her inside to slam the door shut. "I snagged us a room, let's go."

"Are you sure the Captain won't review the hallway cameras to check on what you all have been up to?"

"Well, nothing in life is certain. But I doubt it. He's a little busy right now, and the alphas generally don't want to know. So long as we omegas don't bring it out into the real world, they let us have these free-for-all pressure valves every once in awhile. It's an inviolate law of the omegas, Dorian: What happens at the wedding stays at the wedding. So keep your trap shut about anything you might see."

They exited onto the fifth floor, John nervously glancing around to see if anyone they knew was loitering in the hall. She had picked and marked a room not far off the stairwell, around the corner from the main hallway to minimize the odds they would run into anyone from the station. The short walk took them right past the stage entrance to the ballroom, however, and as they went by Dorian paused, clearly interested in the proceedings.

"Come _on,_ someone's going to see us," John hissed.

"I kind of want to see what I have to keep my mouth shut about. For future reference."

"Dorian, this is a terrible ..." But the android had already walked through the door.

They hid out behind some heavy curtains on the stage behind the band so Dorian could survey the scene without being spotted. There were at least two hundred people crammed into the ballroom. About fifty of those were dancing -- with various levels of undress -- to the upbeat oldies the band was belting out. Among the dancers was Cam, flailing about and giggling with her girlfriends like she was a college student, not the de facto mother of two dozen.

To the left near the back was the bar and yet another massive spread of food, that area a locus of heavy drinking and socializing. That included an anxious Rudy, surrounded by friends trying to get the mother of the bride drunk to reduce her worries. Maki was also holding court at a table near the bar, giving a lesson on shibari rope-tying techniques to a cluster of Nippon groupies, using an apparently enthusiastic volunteer.

It was along the walls, however, where the real orgy was commencing. The behaviors ranged from clusters of double penetration and sixty-nines to an impressively long daisy chain snaking through the middle the hall. And at the center of the action was Valerie. She was on top of a long folding banquet table, on all fours, with no fewer than four other people working on her. One person was thrusting into her from behind, a second underneath her sucking her cock, and a two others pulling and sucking on her pierced nipples.

"Wow," said Dorian. "That image might be hard to erase at the office next week."

"Hey, you wanted to know," John replied, amused. "She's young, beautiful and just dropped an egg last week. Naturally going to be popular. Now can we get to our room before I drop one too? _Please._ " She turned away from the party kissed the crock of Dorian's damp neck, her arousal mounting by the minute.

"There's a lot of creative sex going on in here. Good for getting tips," Dorian said, still insatiably curious.

"Sex? This isn't sex. This is just ... assisted masturbation."

The android looking down at John with disbelief, then back over at the writhing detective on the table. She had actually managed to add a fifth to her group, now giving head to someone in addition to getting fucked from all directions. "Are you sure? Because it definitely look like ..."

"Nope. Not sex. I mean, look at that mess. Who's in charge over there? How can it be sex if there's no possibility of bonding, children, and no one's directing anyone else? It's just fooling around, Dorian. It doesn't mean anything."

Dorian finally dragged her attention back to John's nuzzling of her neck. "Is that what you want to do now? Go to a room and engage in meaningless not-sex for hours?"

"I thought you'd never ask," John said, and dragged her partner back out through the side door. The entire floor of the hotel had been rented out, and all doors left unlocked. Nevertheless John had claimed a room adjacent to the ballroom by flipping on the "Do Not Disturb" sign. It was going to be noisy anyway, what with the band and orgy next door, so not prime real estate for couples breaking off from the main party. Good for privacy. John still jammed a chair under the doorknob after they entered just to be sure.

John turned around to face her lover in real privacy for the first time. She crossed the three paces to embrace her, reaching her arms around Dorian's waist and burying her face in the android's neck again. "What do you want to do, Dorian? I'm up for anything. And I do mean that literally."

"I thought that was my line," Dorian murmured, running her hands along John's back as they spoke. "If I tell you what I want to do, do you promise to tell me something you want to do later? Because what I don't want is to give you orders all night. Deal?"

"Of course, whatever you ..." She broke off the reflexive submission and laughed. "Damn I suck at this. Okay. What did you have in mind?"

Dorian's hands migrated up to the back of John's neck. "I want to feel you inside me," she whispered.

"You do?" John couldn't hold back her surprise. That wasn't what she fantasized about at all, especially considering Dorian's amazing cock. John had never felt a burning desire to be a top, she just wanted be rid of sex with roughness and pain. Then she caught sight of the strange expression on Dorian's face, at once nervous and excited and uncertain. "Hey. Is this your first time doing any of this?"

"When else would I have had sex? It's not like I get invited to many omega orgies. If I did it during my first commission, Rudy never told me."

"You always seem to know exactly what you're doing, is all. That blow job a couple of weeks ago? Exceptional." She pulled Dorian's hips in so that they were rubbing together, draping over each other.

"There's a lot of programming left in our solid-state memory related to sex." John was sucking on her neck and chest, unbuttoning her shirt, but it seemed important to Dorian to get the words out before falling on her lips. "But I've never _felt_ any of it. I want to feel everything with you. To be touched, penetrated, to come. Will you help me experience all of that, John?"

"Yeah. I agree to your terms. Time for kissing right now, Dorian, not talking."

Their lips finally met. It was a deep kiss, full of intensity and passion. John threw herself into it, no longer caring about guilt or risk or shame. She managed to get Dorian's shirt off without breaking the kiss, then her own as well. They pressed their chests together sand wrapped their arms around each other to touch even more.

Then John noticed there was something weird about Dorian's body. It wasn't her skin, which did feel slightly different from regular human skin although it was incredibly soft and inviting. Nor was it her smell, which was notable for its absence. Both of these facts John had processed and accepted long before. Rather, it was that she was _cold_ to the touch. John broke off the kissing and leaned their foreheads together, unsure of how to ask for what she wanted.

"Just spit it out, John." Sometimes her partner really was a mind-reader.

"Can you ... increase the temperature of your body to the same as mine? If you can't, that's okay, I can live without it ..." Dorian cut her off with another peck on the lips.

"Yes. I can do that. But it will drain my energy reserves much faster. I'll be down to fifty percent by two am."

"So you will be getting all loopy and emotional by the middle of the night? That's a negative?" Her chest was already warming up, and John began grinding against it again. "Okay, stay warm until one, then drop it to save power for the walk back."

The two of them managed to stumble over to the bed. Dorian unbuckled John's pants and pulled them down, revealing her fully naked body at last. Naked except for one thing: Her collar, inscribed with the Maldonad name. Dorian ran her fingers underneath the cool, comforting necklace, John's companion for twelve years.

"I've wanted to rip that off you so many times," whispered Dorian. "Will you take it off for me now?"

Without breaking eye contact, John reached back and found the hidden latch keeping the silver band in place, She rarely removed it, even in the shower. Most of the time she forgot it was there. But now its absence was almost like a living thing, the raw pink welt on her neck a reminder of exactly what she was about to do. Most people wouldn't classify a fling with a bot as adultery, doubly so at an after party, but emotionally John knew exactly what it was.

John carefully laid the necklace to one side on a table, and moved to kiss Dorian once again. "No guilt tonight, just a good time. I promise."

Dorian smiled and began to explore her body from top to bottom. She moved down from John's neck to her chest to her hip, then scooted to the edge of the bed to gently lick John's leg just above the synthetic joint.

"Do you want to leave that on or take it off?"

"It actually helps for balance, and, um, leverage if I'm on top. So leave it on for now." John realized she had never had sex in that position with the artificial limb. Honestly she hadn't had much sex at all since waking from the coma, so there might be a learning curve all around.

Dorian nodded and began working back up John's body with small kisses, giving a single good suck on her cock on the way. By the time she reached her head again John was already breathing hard with desire. "Pants off. Let's see yours."

They both helped peel off the offending soaked clothes, then it was John's turn to move down and take a look. Dorian's penis looked both pulsatingly alive and a little bit synthetic. It was long and tapered, hairless at the joint. She was about the same size erect as flaccid, so not as gigantic as John remembered from the infamous incident in the cruiser all those months ago. She had an oviduct in the right place too, oozing that strange purple gunk that ran through her veins. John opened up her muscular legs for better access and bent over to lick her entrance. Dorian's back arched as a jolt of pleasure shot through her.

"John? I thought we agreed you were going to ...?"

"Hush now, bot. I'm not fucking a virgin without some prep. So lie back and enjoy it."

"Getting bossy, aren't we." But Dorian did lie back and close her eyes, immersing herself in the new wonderful sensation. She had explored herself before, but that was all clinical, nothing at all like having a loved one do it.

John spent a few minutes licking all around her entrance and perineum before the state of Dorian's cock indicated she was incredibly aroused. Assuming that was the same as in humans, but it had been similar so far. She pushed in a couple of fingers to test the waters. There was no resistance, and Dorian's muscle clamped down in a way that promised some truly stupendous friction in the near future.

"How does that feel, Dor? You've got to tell me if anything is uncomfortable."

"No ... just ... want more. _Please,_ more." She was rocking her hips onto John's fingers and clutching the bed's duvet cover, her face swirling with colors John had never seen before. John took that as a sign that she was ready. She mercilessly removed the fingers and wiped the residue onto Dorian's already-wet cock. John then got up on her knees, a position that for whatever reason always hurt the stump like hell. Ignoring the pain, she climbed up onto Dorian's beautiful body and with shuddering slowness pushed into her.

An incredible feeling of tightness and moisture and warmth enveloped John's own penis, and she had to slow down even more to take it all in. It had been so long since she had experienced this, she had forgotten what an exquisite sensation it was. Maldonado's punishment of course didn't count. Unfortunately the position was also shooting fire through what was left of her leg. John looked up to see how Dorian was doing, only to find her staring at her with unquenchable lust, cheek still swirling rainbow.

"You okay? Talk to me, please."

"I was going to tell you, time for lovemaking not talking, John. But your leg just texted me that you have nerve endings firing that shouldn't be. Are _you_ okay?"

"You're on a personal phone number basis with my leg, eh?" John said dryly. "All right, I give in, this is uncomfortable. Let's switch to our sides, see how that plays."

They rolled to John's left, which shifted most of her weight onto the good leg. John not only felt immediate relief from the pain, but a psychic burden was lifted as well. For it no longer seemed like she was trying to unnaturally dominate her, literally be the top. They were equals, no matter who was inside whom.

Dorian rubbed her complaining thigh until the residual ache subsided. Then she lifted her leg over John's hip and helped guide her in again. They were facing each other, right at the same height, and John couldn't resist kissing those soft lips again even before she started to move. She wanted to touch as much area on Dorian's body as she could, right down to the toes, and even including the strange shadow sensations transmitted by the synthetic leg as it rubbed against Dorian's leg.

They moved together slowly, with as much kissing as possible before John had to pause to breathe. John ran her hand along Dorian's dancing cheek matrix, which produced a very favorable response. Dorian moaned and began pushing herself onto John faster and faster, pulling on her hips for more. As they both got into it Dorian led John free hand down between them, using both of their hands to stroke her cock trapped in between them.

It was by most people's standards boring, featureless sex, but it was exactly what John wanted and needed. To feel nothing but sweet lips and soft skin and pleasure for both parties. To know that your partner wanted nothing more than to make you feel good, and to reflect that thoughtfulness right back at her. For once John didn't feel like her body was broken, but was singularly sculpted to match this one other person like puzzle pieces sliding together.

They came together, another first for John. Even all the mutual masturbation stuff she had engaged in over the years usually ended up one-sided. Maybe Dorian had some programming in that head of hers that linked her orgasm to her partner's, but John didn't really care at that moment. All she cared about was this overwhelming feeling of closeness and mutual vitality and buzzing endorphins. A flash of a fantasy blipped through her mind: Doing this every day, making love, going to sleep, and waking up touching her, every day. A dream.

"That was very enjoyable. I see the appeal of the omega party now," Dorian mumbled in her ear.

"Mmm, yeah, don't let our secret out." John responded drowsily. She nuzzled Dorian's warm chest and lay her head against it. Probably shouldn't have had those drinks earlier. She closed her eyes, intending to rest just for a minute. Dorian wrapped her arms around her, heating them up even more, and John immediately drifted off.

 

******

 

John woke up with a start some known time later, in a post-slumber panic that she was doing something immoral and about to get caught. She was covered in a light blanket and a light was still on, but it took a second to realize where she was. Then she saw Dorian's dark skin, felt her comforting warm body and calmed down.

"How long was I out? You should have woken me up. We only have a few hours here."

"Shhh, it's only eleven. Besides I liked watching you sleep. Your face is very peaceful."

"Mmm. Contrast with awake life." John stretched out, beginning to feel alive in more ways than one. "So is it my turn to ask what I want? Because I have some thoughts. We can't let that cock of yours go to waste." She reached for it even as she spoke, grinning and bending over to kiss her some more.

"John, wait. I have to tell you something." Her face was dead serious.

"What? What do you do, Dorian?"

"I tried to contact your family," Dorian said softly.

It took John a second to realize who she was talking about. "You mean my _parents?_ Dorian, you shouldn't have done that. You don't know what I did to them. Some things can't be forgiven."

"Yes. They hung up on me when I mentioned your name."

John let out a wordless cry and buried her face in Dorian's chest. She rarely thought of her parents, but it was like getting stabbed in the heart, this independent confirmation that they still hated her all these years later.

"But I was able to talk to your sister."

"Jacob?" John jerked up. Her sister had only been nine years old when she left. It was hard to even remember what she looked like. The thing she recalled most about Jacob was that she was a non-conformist spitfire. Constantly getting into trouble and terrifying the community that she would bring the authorities down on them.

"Yes. She doesn't live in the San Juans near your parents anymore. She's with her bondmate and children in Utah now."

"Utah?" repeated John dumbly. She was having trouble keeping up with the significance of this conversation. Utah was the switchiest province in all of Canada, so on reflection it wasn't all that surprising.

"She wants to help us."

"Help us with what? Dorian, what are you talking about?"

"We can't live like this anymore, John. Help us to run away."

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains references to past sexual abuse of children.

_"Run away?_ Dorian, have you lost it? You want me to give up my job, my children, my _life_ in order to fulfill some switch fantasy in Utah? Do you have any idea how much shame we'd bring down on Sandra, on all the kids?"

Dorian ran her fingers down John's distraught face, willing some calm into her partner. "I assumed we'd take Sarika and Lukas with us. But do you really think you'd be leaving your life behind? I don't feel like I'm living at all."

"Oh Dorian ..."

"It's true. I know I'm just a machine and that's probably how I'm supposed to feel, but I don't want to. I don't want to sneak around for five minutes alone with you. I want to love you and live like a human being."

John inched closer, mirroring Dorian's motions by stroking the crackling cheek matrix. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you're not human. You're police property."

"So are you, John. Maldonado owns you as surely as he owns me." Dorian moved her hand down to John's raw white neck where the collar usually lay. "Don't you want to be free?" She leaned forward and sucked her hard on the same spot. To leave an alternate mark.

"I'm _bonded_ to him. I will never be one hundred percent free. Wishes and dreams can't trump biology."

"The fact that you are here with me tonight shows how wrong you are, John," Dorian murmured into her neck. "Biochemical bonding doesn't mean you are emotionally attached to him forever. It doesn't mean you love him."

"How do you know I love you? How do you know I'm not merely lusting after your pretty ass?" She bent over Dorian's shoulder in reciprocation, slowly sucking her way up her partner's neck. Dorian wriggled closer at the touch, but still seemed determined to get her point out before complete distraction ensued. So stubborn, in that nagging persistent sort of way.

"We've had this argument before. You could have had sex with anyone tonight. Ovulation is near, your pheromone levels are high, I sure many people would love to have a taste of you. But you choose to risk coming to a room with me instead. I know you love me, even if you might never admit it. John, _wait."_

John was busily attempting to change the subject by mouthing her way down Dorian's chest. She let out a sigh and and gave an annoyed glance back up at Dorian's worried face. "Okay, debate champ. Give me your best bullet points, and I promise to carefully consider all the arguments before making a decision."

"I want you to think about your children." John froze, dismayed by this train of thought, but didn't say a word. "Do you really want Lukas and Sarika to grow up like this, with a marriage like Allen's in their future? Do you want to be sneaking around ten, twelve years from now, when Sarika is sent off to be bonded to some cruel person she barely knows, and meanwhile the two of us are grateful for the opportunity to have a few hours to be alone? Is that the future you want?"

John had crawled back up and pinned Dorian loosely underneath her, trying to hold back the rage, shaking with fear at the horrific reality staring her from the plain words. Finally, with a voice of soft lethality, she responded. "Let me tell you a story, Dorian. Why I left my family and my culture to come to Vancouver."

"I thought you wanted a better education than what is provided to the rural districts."

"Yes. That's true. They only teach the switch children enough to be minimally literate, while the surviving offspring of alphas are sent to boarding school. And you can't get a decent job without a decent degree, or at least decently positioned parents. But that's not the real reason a twelve-year-old gives up everything she knows to move to the city."

She took a deep breath and strummed Dorian's velvety soft skin, preparing to tell the story. "I grew up on Orcas Island. Small town; fishing, tourism and a little bit of farming keep it afloat. Primitive, low tech. I think we had two phones and one vidscreen in my entire house, which my sister and I had to fight over to do our homework. The people on the island included many Natives, the Salish, mixed in with the descendents of European switch immigrants, who tried to get to freedom at the very end of the Earth. By the de facto policy of Columbia Province, of course, all government jobs go to people from alpha families. All the teachers, post office, city hall. The cops. There's no explicit law that says a switch can't be a public school teacher, but _mysteriously_ they never pass the requisite background checks.

"In small towns like this everyone knows their place. Natives try to keep to themselves, grudgingly sending their kids to school for the requisite years, then off to the sea as soon as they're old enough. Alphas from the larger cities run everything, and their kids -- even the omegas -- lord it over everyone else, including the adults. The European switches mostly run little farms and little shops, try to stay out of debt and out of trouble. Stay out of the way. My parents had one of those shops, a feed company that mainly catered to the farmers and pet owners in town. They made their own, using by- product from the Native cannery. On the mainland a bigger Ag company probably would have put them out of business, but the island was too remote for them make the effort, and a lot of the switch community were my parents' loyal customers anyway.

"I saw all kinds of despicable behavior from the alpha families in my parents' shop. The younger alephs were the worst. You'd see the omega wives running around with these huge packs of children, who would just disappear one by one and be replaced by new ones. Occasionally one would come back, crowned an aleph and pronouns altered to the pompous "he," and they were always complete tyrants. One time a seven-year-old made my ima literally lick his shoes for failing to get off a ladder fast enough. He got the idea from a vid. Another time a nine-year-old punched mama in the gut because he thought she hadn't lowered in eyes with sufficient respect. You see less of that kind of crap here in the city, because there are a lot more alephs around and they are taught how to restrain their behavior. But put them in the middle of a population that they can abuse at will, then they do. Most of them do.

"As a kid I spent countless hours mixing up disgusting-smelling vats, or helping customers, or ostensibly babysitting my uncontrollable little sister. I was kind of tall and brawny even then, so I was the go-to for hauling around heavy crap. But when they finally let me out to my own devices, I'd run down to the beach and walk for hours. I loved the sounds of the ocean, the waves, the seagulls, the wind. Sometimes you could spot whalesign, the real orcas you know. And I'd watch the shoreline, especially the places people hung out. I always loved all those kid detective mysteries, Encyclopedia Browno and all that shit, so I'd look for clues on the beach, try to figure out who had been there and what they had been doing. Or at low tide go out and look for artifacts of other places, mainland Columbia mostly but every once in awhile you'd find evidence of something from Oregon, or even all the way from Nippon.

"Even then I wanted to be a cop; it sounded like the most interesting job in the world. Keep the peace, dispense justice, solve mysteries, chase bad guys. What could be better? But it was just a fantasy, because there's no way a switch kid from Orcas could ever become a cop. A janitor at the station, maybe, or a receptionist at best. I just accepted this as the way of things, because I loved my family and was proud of what I was. Despite all the dogshit-eating even the youngest alpha had the right to dispense, we were always taught we were better than them. They lived by a code of brutality, worshiped death as a means to power, and we were above all that.

"There was this one kid a few years ahead of me, an alpha named Roche, who terrorized all my classmates whenever he was home from boarding school. This guy was just an evil fucker, he could put Little Psycho to shame. His father was the principal of my school, four of his wives were teachers; this one nest basically owned the school. He let his aleph run the place on occasion as a training ground, handling discipline. Word got out quickly, among the switch kids at least, exactly what kind of punishment he was dishing out. At first it was just light canings like they're supposed to do, but that rapidly devolved into full beatings. They said he liked to tell all the omegas how worthless they were, how their parents were stupid less-evolved degenerates, how they were all switch sluts who needed to be taught how to submit. Naturally behavior improved dramatically whenever Roche was around, so the teachers didn't look too closely into how he was achieving it.

"When Roche was about fifteen he started ovulating, and his behavior took a turn for the worse. He was home for a full month at the end of my fifth grade, for 'job training.' He'd make his victims suck him off, telling them it was for their own good. Just helping to train them to their proper station in life. He said if they told anyone, it would prove what disobedient little whores they were, and that he'd come to their homes at night and rape them, and they would be bonded to him forever. The parents of one of the omegas finally complained to the police. They said there was no physical evidence a crime had been committed. That the switch omegas were making up stories to get out of punishment, and to tarnish a good alpha's name."

At this point in the long narrative, Dorian had tears streaming down her face. John didn't even know she could cry like that, anguish based merely on long-ago suffering of people she had never met. John herself felt only a cold emptiness in the retelling, like it had all happened in some ancient saga to a tribe long dead. Nevertheless she paused to pull Dorian closer, kiss her damp face in comfort, then settle back down on her chest to exhale the terrible end.

"The switch parents all got together for a secret meeting at that point, to try and decide what to do. I was supposed to be babysitting Jacob, but after she fell asleep I snuck over to listen to the debate. I thought they were going to come up with some satisfying vigilante justice: Beat him up, chop off his dick, maybe just poison the fucker. But no. They decided violence was off the table. That it would only invite a shit-ton of retribution and make matters worse. And Roche could still be there, potentially for decades to come. They decided to make a deal with the alpha father instead.

"They went grovelling to this alpha and tried to appeal to his sense of reason. The aleph was going to full-on rape someone eventually, and then there would be evidence that couldn't be swept under the rug. Dishonor would ensue. Roche's sexual appetites needed to be controlled. So the deal went like this: In exchange for his job training to occur elsewhere, for Roche to be permanently sent off the island and never again to set foot in the school, the community would give him an adolescent omega for his first bonding. Like some sort of fucking virgin sacrifice. A major coup for them, to "convert" a switch. The parents held a lottery to determine the unlucky girl. Six months later she was delivered, stoic and silently defiant, and nobody ever saw her or Roche again.

"I was too young to be included as a candidate, but I wasn't too young not to hate everyone involved. Hated my teachers for looking the other way, hated the principal for not instructing his aleph how to be a decent responsible human being. Hated my friends and myself for not having the guts stand up to him, or band together to cut him down ourselves. Hated my parents and every other parent for giving in, for protecting ourselves at the expense of some other kids somewhere else, for sacrificing one of _our_ kids when push came to shove. Exactly what we looked down on the alpha families for doing. I hated everything about the switches, for being weak and helpless and shrugging our shoulders at a disgusting world.

"I decided right then, while spying on that meeting, that if we omegas were doomed to be some alpha's whore, then I would get something for my whoredom. That there was no point in holding out in poverty in some backwoods town, just to be fucked over again and again. There was no noble martyrdom in being a switch. By going over I could control something of my education, my profession, and my life. At least that's the thought process when I was twelve. The reality of being an adult, the massive social and professional pressure to actually bond to an alpha, all those nestlings you have to kiss goodbye and send off to murder or be murdered ... I thought I could handle it.

"So, to answer your original question: No, I don't want Sarika to be forced to marry someone horrible. But I also don't want them to be put into a situation where everyone drops out of school at fourteen for lack of options, and where they could be raped at school because someone in authority thinks they're worthless animals to be used. There are no easy answers here, Dorian. I'll think about your proposal, really I will, but you are asking a lot. You want me to give up my job, my marriage, all semblance of stability for an unknown future. There's no guarantee the life we pick would be better than this one, not even in the promised land in Utah."

Dorian's weeping had subsided, replaced by empathy and sadness. She disentangled her arms from where John was weighing her down, and ran her fingers down her lover's face, in the identical fashion John had done with the tears earlier. "You still have a choice, John. The decisions you made when you were a child do not define you forever, and neither does the community in which you were born. We can make a different set of choices, together." She bent over to cover her mouth with a kiss that contained surprising aggression and passion, but John knew her well enough now not to take it as an implicit command. She wanted to provoke a reaction, tap into John's sudden emotional venting and willingness to stick up for her life, however misbegotten the android thought the attitude was. John responded exactly as she hoped, working her mouth like she no longer had any need to breathe, or desire to. The human finally broke it off with a moan, panting inches from Dorian's face and staring into her lovely eyes.

"I love your quiet obstinance, you know, all your annoying pestering. You make me a better person." Dorian smiled first at that, then the words really broke through to her and she began to quiver with delirious joy, as if to cry again. "Okay, what's with the leaking? Are you running low on power already?"

"You said you loved me, John."

"What? No I didn't."

"Yes. Yes, you did."

"You need to get your memory banks checked, because what I said was ... oh fuck it. Can we shut up now? I want you inside me. There, I said what I want." John grabbed Dorian's face yet again, an emotional hemorrhaging pouring out of her into their bodies. They might get whiplash from all the shifts in sentiment, she thought absurdly, but it didn't matter. Two hours left. Dorian was right, there were always more choices to make. In true omega wedding party fashion, it isn't supposed to mean anything, even when it meant everything.

John sat back up on top of the android and stuffed a pillow underneath her bum knee in hopes of holding out longer without an annoying flare-up. Then, with Dorian's help, she eased her partner's long cock in, even as it was stiffening up. Despite the long confessional, she was still dripping wet from their previous lovemaking, so even with the size it slipped right in, filling her deeply, all the way to the edge of the egg-laying chamber. The sensation was wonderfully _right,_ rather like the emotional and physical saturation of conjoining, only they could still move and feel delicious friction. John flopped back down on her chest, groaning and wrapping her arms under Dorian's neck.

"By my ancestors, you are _perfect,_ just perfect. What does it feel like to you?"

"Like we're a single person," Dorian whispered. Her face was some loving mixture of jubilation and terror, and she still gave the appearance of nearly breaking down into tears. John was increasingly sure her power _was_ dipping low, befuddling her emotional interface, but didn't mention it again. At that moment it was attractive, and adorable, and perfectly suited to this strange night.

"Hey, we'll go slowly, okay? So you can process everything," John whispered back. Dorian nodded and closed her eyes, trying to regain her balance.

They lay in one place for some long moments, adjusting to each other. Then Dorian reached her arms around to grasp John's hips, and John knew she was ready to move. She pushed herself up and slid back down with excruciating lack of speed, reveling in the simple motion. They both groaned again as Dorian refilled her, pushing them back to unity.

"Again, again, please some more," Dorian breathed. The _please,_ begging when she could have given a command to John's absolute compliance, ignited a wave of desire and lust in her partner. At that instant John had a flashing impulse to pin down Dorian's arms and just start fucking her as hard as humanly possible. Request for more _accepted._ But not sixty seconds ago she promised to go slowly, so she opted for agonizingly deep instead, as much as could be had from the position of lying on top. She drew herself forward onto her creaking knees, then swiftly plunged backwards to the hilt. They both cried out together with each intense movement, Dorian pulling on John's hips to maximize the thrust. John's cock was the one trapped between them this time, but between the sweat and friction of their bodies sliding next to each other, she didn't need any additional stimulation. She didn't need anything but this wondrous sensation of stretching and merging and fulfillment, as if their flesh and souls, synthetic or otherwise, were created exclusively for their beloved counterpart.

Until her damn knee began to complain, that is.

John was a fair expert at ignoring pain, and here for not the first time she was able to compartmentalize the discomfort and focus on her voluminous pleasure. But the bastard leg was apparently in cahoots with Dorian again, for without warning the android moved her arms to John's back, hooked a leg, and fluidly flipped the two of them over so John was partially on her back.

John blinked at her sudden view of the ceiling, then couldn't help but burst out laughing. Dorian's face fell as she pulled out.

"What? I got a text from your leg ..."

"Yeah, I've got to have a talk with that damn leg," John said, still laughing. She wrapped her arms back around Dorian's shoulders and resumed slow necking. "It's fine, you didn't do anything wrong. Just give me a little advance notice next time."

"But ... why is this funny?"

"Well, you did that so well. Normally rolling over right in the middle of sex is a supremely awkward experience."

"They do it on vids all the time. Plus, I flipped a van once. You weigh a lot less than a van." John laughed even harder, and brought her back in close.

"Push into me again. Come with me. _Please,"_ John whispered in Dorian's ear, and with a low whimper her lover complied.

 

******

 

Two hours later they lay intertwined, quiet, a blanket wrapped around John as Dorian had to turn off her body's radiating heat to conserve power. There were only five minutes left before she had to start the convoluted walk back to Rudy's lab.

"John, can I ask you something?" She hadn't spoken for several minutes, and John wondered what new worry was rattling through her neural net.

"Go for it, Dor. What's the worst that can happen, I get all pissy and avoid the subject?"

"When you were a child, when Roche was ... doing what he did ... were your parents the ones who called the police?"

For an instant John did have the urge to change the subject, to talk about anything else, _anything_. But brutal honesty seemed to be the theme of the night, so finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, she told the truth. "No. I never said a word to my parents. I didn't and don't think they would have had the guts to take any sort of action. But I always had a smart mouth, and was sent to the office for it. A lot."

John could feel the wet saltiness coming down Dorian's cheek again, and she traced a pattern through it with her fingertips, along the lines where she imagined the matrix light was running around and around. She didn't want to look up.

Two minutes left.

 

******

 

After Dorian left -- a few minutes late, after John couldn't resist shoving her newly clothed partner up against a wall for one last private kiss -- John waited a suitably inconspicuous amount of time, then went out to check on her nestmates. The main party was beginning to wind down, as folks either paired off into the more comfortable hotel rooms, or spaced out from too much intoxication. Rudy was nowhere to be found and Cam was still dancing her way with the few remaining revelers. John found Val passed out in a nude puppy pile of her suitors. With Cam's assistance they were able to wake her up, get her dressed and wobble to a cab for home. Cam didn't ask where John had been, or with whom. Omega code of honor.

They all crashed in bed after checking on the kids, and a grateful John slept in to a luxurious nine in the morning. She awoke with a throbbing thigh and more phantom pain in her absent knee than usual, but otherwise more at peace than she could remember since waking from the coma. For a moment, happy.

John snapped on her leg and shuffled to the kitchen, hoping to get an update on Allen. Cam was already up of course, pouring coffee like it was any other morning. Rudy was sitting on a stool at the counter, twitchy, miserable, eyes flicking back and forth from her phone to a pad with a tech article she was ostensibly reading.

"Nothing yet? Sandra's not back?"

"Not a word. Not so much as a text. Is this taking longer than usual, or am I just going mad? Looney bin, they'll have to haul me off if he doesn't call soon." Rudy downed a slug of yet more coffee and strummed the table, as Jaden came up from behind her, seeming equally worried.

"Maybe you should lay off the caffeine, Rudy, you look like you're going to spaz out onto the floor. Allen's fine, Sandra would have sent us notice if anything major had gone down." She patted Rudy on the back, then turned to Jaden, who had plopped down with a heavy sigh and stared down at her cereal. "Hey, Pipsqueak, how was your night with your friend?" Jaden had been assigned babysitting duties after the ceremony, with a classmate over for a sleepover as backup.

Jaden's head jerked up with wide eyes of terror, then immediately back down to her bowl. _"Fine,"_ she managed to spit out, then picked up her bowl and stomped off to the dining room for some privacy. John looked after her the moody teenager with surprise.

"What's eating her?" she asked Cam.

"I'm ... not one hundred percent sure," Cam responded, compulsively wiping down a counter. "Maybe you can talk to her, John. She might tell you things that she doesn't want to admit to the rest of us."

"Oh, sure, because I'm the rebellious wife," said John.

 _"Exactly,"_ laughed Cam.

At that moment, a tired Maldonado came through the door, sinking into stool in the same party clothes he had worn the entire day before. Cam motioned some coffee towards him, which he waved away. Rudy jumped up and hovered, uncertain whether to run over and pester him or defer and wait until Sandra started to speak. Finally she ventured, "Is she ...?"

"Her condition is fair. There's not going to be another rishon, I believe, but she did very well. You should be proud." He put his head down in his hands in exhaustion.

Rudy took two steps forward, then oscillated, still not receiving clear signals on the protocol. "Can I vis..."

"Yes, yes, _go_ Rudy," Maldonado said, giving her an impatient wave. Rudy didn't give the others so much as a parting look as she dashed out the door. Sandra then dragged himself back to his feet. "I'm going to bed. If Rudy calls in a panic, don't wake me up. Her injuries really aren't that severe." On that ominous note, he lurched towards the bedrooms.

Cam gave John an expression that combined concern with carefully constructed indifference, then went back to cleaning up. "Jaden, John. Talk to her. Her behavior needs to shape up before Sandra emerges from hibernation and things return to normalcy around here."

"Right. Sure."

John went into the dining room where Jaden was finishing up her breakfast. Several younger kids were playing vid games in the great room behind them, but were mostly out of earshot. John pulled up a chair next to the girl, who was studiously avoiding her gaze. "Hey kiddo."

"Did Mom send you in here? I just want to be alone right now, John."

"I can tell. But if I go back in there with nothing, _I'm_ going to get it. And nobody wants that to happen, do we?" Jaden gave her the tiniest of smiles. "So why don't you tell me what's been bothering you? I promise on my grandparents not reveal any state secrets. Omega honor." She licked her first two fingers and held them up in the air, the universal child-code for swearing a sacred promise.

Jaden stared down at her twisting hands, fidgiting. Finally she murmured, "Something happened with Avi last night."

"Something bad?" John asked, her heart sinking.

Jaden gave a nervous nod. "She kissed me," she whispered.

"Oh. Did you not want to be kissed?" The girl frowned at the nonchalant response.

"No, I _wanted_ to. At least I think I did. She said I smelled so good, and when she kissed me it felt so nice, and she wanted to taste more of me and then we touched each other and ..." She broke down weeping in shame, and John pulled her to her chest in comfort. It was a delicate situation, for although her behavior was completely normal, it was only acceptable among _married_ omegas. Unbonded omegas from good families were expected to remain chaste, lest they slide into taboo switchiness. "What if I'm bonded now? What if an egg comes and everybody knows and I can never get married and be a martha and ..."

"Shhhh. First of all, you're not bonded, no matter how far you went. So it doesn't really matter, okay? Your egg-laying was last week, so no more eggs, no bonding until next year. Put that thought aside." Jaden's heavy breathing worsened to hiccup-sobs, so John wasn't making as much progress as she hoped. "Can I tell you a secret? And now you've go to omega-honor-promise me not to tell anyone else."

"Wha ... _hic_... what?"

 _"Everybody's kissed their friends before getting bonded,"_ John whispered in her ear. Jaden's convulsions stopped as she looked up at John in shock.

"Really?" she said dubiously.

"Really."

"Even _Mom?_ "

"Probably," John said, trying to keep on a serious face. "Look, honey, you do have to be careful. Not so much for bonding, because by next year you'll be under a tight leash during the danger zone. We know when that is. But you do have to be careful about your feelings. This isn't like a romance novel. It can't _mean_ anything with another omega, all right?" And here she did sober up, for the bitter hypocrisy of her words did not escape John.

"Maybe I shouldn't talk to her anymore."

"No, no, don't so that. Never abandon your friends just because things are awkward. You might need all your friends someday, Jaden. Just talk to her, her feelings are probably just as confused as yours. Look, it was an intense night. Allen got married, you're all hormonal from last week still, and you got to be alone with someone without supervision for the first time. Stuff happens. All you can do is try to do better next time. And maybe avoid the one-on-one sleepovers."

"Okay. Thanks for the advice. I'm, uh, father told me to move my stuff into Allen's room. I should go work on that."

 _Great, my ovulation will be the first one she hears,_ thought John. Why couldn't Maldonado wait until Rudy's, or just ease her in with a few months of ordinary sex? What had they done with Allen? She couldn't remember; it was lost in the Swiss cheese of memories before the coma.

So all John said was, "Sandra's been up all night. Maybe you should wait until this afternoon so he can get some sleep."

"That's a good idea."

 _A fucking terrible idea_ , amended John, but there it was.

 

******

 

Rudy raced in the car over to Stahlo's apartment, with volcanic levels of anxiety and worry. _Fair condition,_ what on earth could that mean? Rudy realized the only new brides she had any direct experience with were herself and her nestmates, and Sandra _was_ a notorious softie. That's usually how you ended up with a rishon in the first place.

Rudy could still remember their own bonding all those years ago, clear as day. They had met at a cybercrime prevention conference at Columbia University. It was one of the first events Rudy had ever given an expert presentation at, and she was stutteringly nervous as usual. And in the front row there was this tiny, foolishly young alpha, recently graduated from the Academy and putting in his requisite two years as a beat cop before going to detective, but with ambitions to climb the ladder. And he also had some unconventional ideas on the potential role of AI in law enforcement, which wouldn't hurt the ambition either. Sandra convinced her to stay in Vancouver beyond the conference and consult, acting as a go-between with the burgeoning private android industry and the Police Bureau.

By the time he floated the idea asking their respective parents for permission to formally bond, they were practically living together already. Rudy's parents fairly despaired at finding a decent match for their unusual anti-social daughter, one of the youngest with seven more weddings to pay for first. So they quickly breathed a sigh of relief when it turned out Rudy was sneaking around with a never-married alpha instead of shaming them all by turning switch, and sent their approval from half a world away. Sandra's parents weren't so thrilled. He was still very young, they said, and she really wasn't the advantageous sort they had in mind for their aleph's first alliance. An English robotics expert, _what?_ But Sandra had talked his father into it, arguing that his salary was more than sufficient to cover one bondmate and a few nestlings, and he could always collect more later to create a top-tier law enforcement team.

Sandra's father had been mercurial during the actual bonding, ordering him to beat her harder, far more than Rudy could ever handle. Sandra had finally gotten annoyed at his interference, climbed off Rudy's prostrate form and informed his father that she was _his_ bondmate and he knew perfectly well how to fuck her, and to get out. And it was sweet vindication when they produced Allen, their darling precocious Allen, whom as a baby they had to raise in virtual poverty together as a team, since there was not yet a martha.

All of this was on Rudy's mind as she ran into the Stahl residence to confer with Allen's other nestmates. A physician was just coming out of the egg-laying room, human, an ominous sign. The medbots were legally required to report offenses, but private human doctors could be bribed. Without stopping to ask Rudy pushed into the room.

Allen was sitting in a comfortable armchair instead of an egg-laying chair in the sweltering room, her wounds gently being sponged down by Stahlo's other bondmates. Her entire face and visible upper body were covered with grotesque bruises, and her left arm had apparently been broken and cast. a patch of hair had been bloodily ripped out, and there were newly-clotted slashes on the back of her neck below the collar as well as choke marks from the permanent neckband itself. Her eyes were wide and unfocused; she did not respond or notice as Rudy entered the room. Rudy wailed and rushed to throw her arms around her.

"What happened? Why is she still in subspace? Has she been like this the whole time?" She buried her face in her daughter's hair, willing her to wake up.

A beautiful dark-haired omega in her forties, whom Rudy recognized as Valerie's mother, gently patted her shoulder. "He's been getting worse with each bonding. Pushing to the limit, making the omegas prove they are worthy. When I married him he wasn't like this. I don't know why he didn't stop this time, or why they didn't stop him. Surely she used her safeword. Maybe you can wake her up, or at least get her to fall asleep properly. Part of the egg just descended."

They carefully moved her to a mattress on the floor, positioned on her right side so she wasn't lying on the arm. Rudy curled up behind her lithe form for warmth and covered them both with a blanket. "Will you leave us alone for awhile? Let me talk to her." The other omegas nodded and retreated to the next room.

Rudy hummed soft lullabies for many minutes, the same songs she used for her nestmates' egg layings, and her own, and to put all of her children asleep. Allen's eyelids finally drifted down and Rudy thought she was asleep. Unexpectedly a tremulous voice drifted up from under the blanket. "Mama? Am I at home?"

"No, darling. You've been bonded now, do you remember? But I'm here."

"Yes. I remember. It hurt more than you said. But I could do it. I did it."

"Why didn't you use your safeword? Why, Allen? If you don't use it, he'll never know your limits. He'll keep hurting you."

"I don't have limits, mama. I beat him. I can take it all. There's nothing he can do to break me. I'm better than he is."

And Rudy, who until that moment had held herself together with reasonable fortitude, began to break herself, began to weep.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Although John had the option of family leave through her ovulation in some nine days, she chose instead to report in for duty for the three days remaining before the Trials. She couldn't stand to mope around the apartment waiting for the inevitable text from Sandra, drowning in her own hormones. Without the distraction of actual cases John felt the noose of the heat descend like a vice on her body and mind, leaving her in a desperate escape-fantasy masturbatory circle jerk. And besides, she wanted to see Dorian in the synthetic flesh, even if only in platonic bad-guy ass-kicking mode. John spent every waking second wanting to drag her partner into any convenient storage closet for a fuck; but still, better than being alone.

Paulo took a disgruntled look at the two of them reporting for duty, and waved them into the field with a list of reports to check off. Not on any complex cases, since Kennex would inevitably be out again in short order. Instead they were assigned much lower on the totem pole, to the vast array of abuse and custodial cases that peaked around the Trials. Spousal abuse was always a depressing beat to be on, for in not one in a hundred incidents did the omega press charges. And at this particular time of the year tensions in the city always ran high, because there were always estranged bondmates who tried to grab their children and run.

So the two of them wobbled from apartment to workplace to apartment all day, attempting to engage broken omegas of varying levels of rebelliousness. They naturally fell into a variation of bad cop-good cop, with Kennex holding down the alpha, if present, with barely restrained and self-satisfying belligerence, and Dorian using her mild android neutrality to try and get the omega to open up. In the end they all declined, forcing Dorian to leave them with nothing more than the contact numbers of anonymous battery support lines.

Then at the end of the day, they encountered a radically different case.

"So, what do we have left that's doable by six? Sandra wants everyone home on time, so we can squeeze in a couple of normal family dinners before Little Psycho's off to the Trials."

"There's a cluster of cases over in districts four and five, I thought we'd leave those for tomorrow since it is further across town. One report left over on Halsted Ave, though."

John tapped it up on her phone. "This isn't an anonymous tip," she said incredulously. "The nestmate was willing to leave her name? What do we know about these people?"

Dorian stared ahead for a few seconds with the blue computational matrix flashing across her face, as she accessed marriage, hatching and Trial histories. "One alpha and two omega bondmates, all in their late forties. The three of them run a small clothing store, no martha. Offspring: one aleph present and three teenage omegas, no nestlings." She tipped her head as some relevant information was cross-correlated in her head. "John, the report is against the aleph, not the alpha. The named victim is the oldest omega daughter."

 _"What?!"_ John made a strangling noise of barely repressed rage. "Why isn't this report being handled by Child Endangerment?"

"Both the perpetrator and victim are over eighteen, so the report was labeled domestic."

 _"Incest._ I fucking _hate_ these cases. Which mother reported it?"

"The mother of the aleph." They both sat there in silence for a few seconds, absorbing the implications. The situation must have reached truly unendurable levels for a mother to turn in her own aleph.

At last John glanced over the file to memorize the seven faces of the household, then started the car. "Come on. Let's get this one over with, for good or bad. Maybe we can actually arrest someone for a change."

"If we do actually arrest him, you likely won't make it back home in time for dinner."

"I'd call that a bonus."

They pulled up to the lower-rent apartment complex and briefly assessed the neighborhood. The building was intended for smaller families and thus had mixed occupancy: switches, younger alphas just starting out, older traditional families where all the nestlings were grown. The clothing shop was located on the same block, and some discrete scanning by Dorian revealed that one of the younger daughters was currently managing the register. The adults were all likely to be in apartment, then.

Kennex knocked on the door, in the lead as usual. An older omega that she recognized as the complainant cracked it open a few inches. "Yes?" she said, evidently suspicious that they had entered the building without buzzing up.

John flashed her badge. "Vancouver Metro Police Department, we're here to investigate a report of domestic abuse. I'm Detective Kennex, this is my partner Dorian. Can you open up, please?"

The omega scowled at them, her eyes lingering on Dorian. "I'm the one that filed the report, and that was two weeks ago. You're just now coming around? We've solved the problem ourselves, I withdraw my complaint." She moved to slam the door shut, but John thrust her synthetic knee in the opening, where the door bounced off harmlessly.

"We are still required to do a preliminary investigation. So open up and get your aleph out here. Now." The omega sullenly unlatched the old-fashioned chain.

The older two daughters and the other bondmate were sitting on a couch in the living room, watching TV. Even in a sitting position, John could tell the older daughter, the alleged victim by the name of Jaime, was tall and broad-shouldered and had light brown skin, and at first glance seemed physically unharmed. She reminded John of Dorian a bit, and in fact as both girls turned their heads to look at the newcomers, they seemed unusually fixated on the android. Dorian stepped forward, with her normal calm demeanor.

"I need to speak with Jaime Van in another room alone, and my partner needs to speak to Lexi Vano. Where is he, please?" The alpha, the father of the two teenagers, rushed in from another room just as Dorian was speaking.

"Listen, officers, we don't need any trouble. Can I have a word with you two, alone, before you question my children? Please?"

Kennex walked up to him, trying to reign in her usual projected aggressiveness in these situations. The alpha's demeanor seemed ... well, less like an alpha than usual. Calm and reasonable, which was good, but also timid, which was not so good. The family dynamics in this particular nest were clearly fairly fucked up. "I'm sorry, sir, but that's not our policy. Where is Lexi?"

Jaime interjected, even as she rolled her eyes back to the vid screen. "He's in his bedroom having a session. Go talk to him first, give him a chance to calm his ass down after being interrupted."

"A session?" John asked, abruptly. She could see Dorian rotating, probably scanning via infrared through the walls to the adjoining rooms. "Your brother isn't listed as having a bondmate, so a session with who? A prostitute, is that your family's idea of a solution to an out-of-control aleph?"

The girl laughed, without humor, with old pain. "Do you consider your partner a whore, Detective? It's one of them. Better it than me." She jerked her head towards one of the back bedrooms.

John swiveled and ran for it, before Dorian could reach out to stop her. She burst into the room to find the young alpha bent over the naked DRN unit, curled up with her knees to her chest and her arms knotted above her head to a bed. The android had small lacerations all over her body, oozing purple or flashing circuits from underneath her synthetic skin. She was staring at Lexi with a look of utter devotion in her glassy blue eyes.

John flung the aleph off the bed and against the wall. " _What are you doing to her, asshole_?" she demanded, just as Dorian ran up to pull her partner off him.

_ "Her?  _ Who the fuck are you, omega, and why should you care?  _ It's  _ a fucking machine."

Dorian pulled John back again from her murderous rage. "John, John..." When her partner calmed down a notch, the android turned to the aleph. "Lexi Vano, this Detective Kennex. A domestic abuse complaint about you was filed thirteen days ago. We have some questions for you, if you don't mind. Please step into the living room."

Lexi dusted himself off and sneered at Kennex. " _ See,  _ detective, your  _ thing _ knows how to behave. Something your bondmate clearly hasn't adequately taught you. Maybe I should file a complaint of my own."

It took every ounce of restraint in John's body to grit out, " _Please wait just outside_ _the door_. Away from your sisters." She watched the smirking teenager walk out, then redirected her attention to the wounded DRN unit. "Dorian?"

Her partner untied the ropes restraining the other android. "Was my master pleased with me?" said the DRN softly, in Dorian's exact voice. She was still smiling with an eerie expression. Dorian ran her fingers down the other unit's face, for just the slightest comfort, then placed an index finger to her temple for data transfer.

"What is your designation?" Dorian asked, equally mildly.

"DRN-162." John closed her eyes. So close to Dorian's number, too close.

"When were you activated, 162?"

The android paused for an inordinate amount of time as the computational matrix flashed around and around her cheek. John wondered if there was something wrong with her neural net, for it was a simple enough question. Finally she replied, "Eight days ago."

"A week? You have no other memories before this client?"

"Client? Lexi is my bondmate. I have no other life beyond him. I love him."

Dorian gently cupped the broken android's head while she murmured to John, or perhaps just to herself. "There's nothing in her mind. They've wiped her, again and again." A single tear rolled down Dorian's cheek, then she kissed 162's temple and turned away.

 

******

 

The two of them held it together long enough to do the standard interviews, with standard results. The young omega and all parents now swore noting inappropriate had ever taken place, and withdrew their complaint against their aleph. They had no choice but to leave the DRN unit there, for it was now a registered skinbot, and the Vans had a perfectly legal lease.

Once in the hallway, though, John took a look around at the decades-old building, and satisfied it was camera-free, pulled Dorian into the emergency stairwell. There they sat down and held each other for several minutes, not speaking, trying to hold back the tears. Finally Dorian whispered in John's ear. "Did you know? Know what happened to them all?"

"I was ... vaguely aware that a lot of the DRNs had been sold back as skinbots. The precursor model, the DRLs, were already being manufactured for that purpose, and the DRNs, have, you know, the same functionality. But I didn't _know_ what they were doing. Chose not to think about it, I guess." John's shoulder was wet from where Dorian had broken down, and John tightly wrapped her arms even more tightly around the android's neck. "Dorian, I swear no matter what else happens, I won't let them do anything to you."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, John," Dorian murmured back. "As long as we stay here, I will always be at risk for deactivation."

"I ... I can't. Not ... yet."

Dorian turned and kissed her, with slow passion that made her partner immediately aroused. "I know," she said as they broke it off. "I'll keep waiting for you."

"Dorian, that DRN unit ... did she really love him, no matter what he did to her?"

The android ran her fingers down John's face, identical to her movements earlier with 162. It had a similarly comforting effect, for John still desperately needed touch. "We were meant to feel. To connect to humans. Are you afraid that I love you in the same way? That somehow it isn't real if that's what we were _designed_ to do?"

"I just ... I don't want you to be a slave, Dorian. I don't want you to be _forced_ to love me, through some quirk in your programming. If we leave, if we go together, you need to do it of your own free will."

Dorian kissed her again, short sensuous kisses this time, over and over from different angles. "I don't know anything about free will," she murmured between pecks. "I only know how I feel right now, and that I trust you to never abuse those feelings." John moaned and gave in, falling on her lips while working to get underneath her partner's shirt, the full frustration of the upcoming heat finally descending on her.

Before they could get too far into indecency, John's phone beeped. She reluctantly pulled off to attend to actual work-related matters. Dorian was sucking on her neck just below the metal collar when John suddenly jumped up with a gasp, horrified.

"What happened?"

"It's ... it's nothing. I just need to go home. I'll drop you off at the lab and let you file our reports from there." She stuffed the phone back in her pocket before Dorian could get a look at the text and turned to trudge down the stairs, but the android grabbed her by the jacket and pulled her back.

"It's Captain Maldonado, isn't it?" she asked softly. "He sent you orders."

John could only stand there, trying to choke down her agitation and distress. Dorian reached out to bring her in for another embrace, but this time John pulled away. "Got to go, Dor," she whispered at last. "I have no choice."

For once, Dorian's patience for her partner's self-effacing denial ran out. "You always have a choice. I don't know how many times I have to say it before you understand. Why do you bother spouting bullshit about _my_ free will when you refuse to free _yourself_ from slavery?"

John jerked towards her, as she was about to shout back, or sarcastically retort, or even bombastically evade the subject. But she was sick of all that, sick of confusion and angst and anger."I made my choices long ago. Now I have to live with them. Let's _go."_

 

_******_

 

Sandra wasn't there yet when John arrived home, so she decided to risk grabbing a bite to eat out of the busy kitchen before showering and generally preparing herself for the evening. As usual his instructions had been maddeningly vague on the timeline -- making them wait was practically a Maldonado trademark -- but John guessed he didn't intend on missing one of Charlie's last family dinners before the Trials, so the wait was likely to be a couple of hours at least. But it wouldn't be acceptable to be lounging around the kitchen when he got home either, so John made a quick sandwich and brought it back to her room. Unlike Val, John never had much of a pre-sex ritual. She cleaned herself up, and obeyed instructions, and tried not to overthink it. When your body is effectively given over for another person's pleasure, what good does it do to wallow in anticipation or anxiety?

That's what John told herself at least, as she balanced against a grab bar on one leg in the shower. Dorian's words -- angry, almost hurt -- rattled in her mind. What _did_ she expect to get out of her life, her relationships? What is the point of having a bondmate if you hide from him at every opportunity? Was it asking so much to have sex the way she enjoyed it, even if it wasn't possible to have it with the person she most wanted to be with?

Was John Kennex a slave? She despised the thought.

John awkwardly toweled off and hopped out of the shower stall to reattach the synthetic leg. Sandra's instructions hadn't referenced the leg, but based on the position John was expected to hold while waiting, she assumed it was permitted. A small allowance, but one that John did appreciate.

After wallowing when she'd vowed not to wallow, John decided just to let it do for now, and see how Sandra was going to play things. Accept as a good submissive should, although it left a bitter taste in her mouth. She could do this. She didn't know if she could do this. What would happen if instead of kneeling at the wall, she walked out the front door and never came back?

Very faintly down the hall she could hear the laughter and chatter of the kids at dinner, and knew she didn't have a lot of time. John followed the sounds down to the doorway that led to their large living room. Peaking around the doorjamb she could make out the raucous little kids' end of the table, where Cam generally supervised to make sure food was eaten, not thrown, and wriggling bodies stayed in their chairs for the duration. Cam's back was towards Kennex, and she could see short little Lukas with her spiky blond hair, attempting to wrangle some curried peas onto her fork. Sarika was next to her, in between Lukas and Maartie, and helped her sister squish it all together into a manageable rice ball.

In that instant, watching Sarika protect and love the child that technically shouldn't even be called "her," John knew she had to leave, and couldn't leave alone. Dorian's words from the night of the wedding haunted her. She _didn't_ want her daughters to face the same dilemmas as she did. She wanted them to get bonded because they cared for someone deeply, not for career advancement. She wanted them to have their own children that they would keep and cherish, and never have a "celebratory" dinner for a six-year-old about to go off and murder other six-year-olds. She wanted them to feel happiness, joy, contentment in their lives. While it was theoretically possible for that to happen here, odds were the evil system they all cooperated with on a daily basis would eat them alive, just as it had Allen.

And John realized she just couldn't do it anymore. If it were just herself she could probably float along alternating between dissociated numbness and bouts of rage for quite some time, but it wasn't just about her. She wasn't going to last another week standing by while her girls were turned into someone's obedient playthings, and her lover's people were legally erased and tossed into the trash. John still didn't know what fate would await them in Utah, but at the very least they would have the freedom to choose.

John crept back down the hall to her room, for she knew what she had to do now. The city would be on lockdown for adults traveling with children until after the Trials, so she would have to suck it up and wait it out a few days. That would give Dorian time to contact Jacob and work out a specific plan, although John suspected she already had something cooked up that neural net of hers. They could probably get away at some point in the hubbub of planning for Charlie's victory aleph party.

Tonight, though, John was just going to have to endure. She had done it so many times before, what's another couple of nights? John washed down some mild painkillers for her knee, took off her clothes, and with a firm exhale knelt down next to the wall. The submissive posture was a common one from their early days of marriage, although Sandra hadn't made her do it since the leg was blown off. She was on her knees a few inches from the wall, back straight, hands clasped behind her back, forehead leaning on the wall. It became uncomfortable but not agonizing within short order, especially with the pressure on the stump.

Normally while waiting John kept her mind blank, or at least distracted with irrelevancies like reviewing events earlier in the day. Tonight, though, she felt an odd release, as if she were holding her breath too long and was finally receiving oxygen. Giddy, almost. Her old life would soon be _over_ _,_ and a new one beginning, one where she could be around and touch and talk to Dorian at any time. Granted she was going to have to get a new job, possibly in another profession, and also learn how to be a more hands-on mother. Maybe she could stick the android with that task, Dorian was so much better with the kids than she ever was.

John then was feeling fairly good, even a bit happy, when Maldonado came silently into the room. At his presence she wiped the daydreams from her mind and tried to relax. Act normal, whatever that was nowadays. His smell smothered her as soon as he entered the tiny space, immediately triggering both an erection and a primal craving for his sweat, semen, body. In the three years since the last ovulation, she'd forgotten the addictive quality of her bondmate's pheromones, how qualitatively different sex was during this time of the year. Enduring for an evening or two might not be so easy. If she enjoyed it on some level, would that betray everything she felt about Dorian? Dorian herself wouldn't see it that way. She'd say John was being fucking ridiculous for feeling guilt over gratifying sex with the one you were biochemically bonded to.

Sandra took off his shirt and tossed it into a corner, then sat behind John breathing on her shoulder. He gently rubbed her back in concentric circles, almost a massage. John was so surprised at the sensuous touch that she nearly toppled over, but managed to check herself and simply sink back a few centimeters into the motions.

Finally Sandra leaned in so they were practically spooned together, and rubbed the back of her neck while whispering in her ear. "I'm going to ask you a question, John, and you need to tell me the truth. Did you fuck Dorian at the after party?"

John jerked up in a panic, inadvertently disobeying orders by taking her forehead off the wall. Sandra slammed it back forward, curling his fingers in her hair to hold her in place. _He must have reviewed the hotel tapes after all_ , John realized. Why didn't they use flashmask, why didn't John demand that Dorian to stay at home, why couldn't she have more fucking willpower, why, why ...

She had no choice but to answer honestly. Lying was futile when the truth was so easily checked. "Yes," John whispered.

"Tell me what happened,"

"Dorian wanted to see the wedding. See what we omegas did outside of work and home. So I let her in after she ... it, I mean ... walked to the hotel. And I was frustrated from the upcoming ovulation, and she was curious after seeing how everyone was acting in the ballroom, so ..." She trailed off, hoping that would be enough without the excruciating details.

"How long has this been going on?"

 _Weeks,_ thought John. _Or maybe the minute you gave her to me._ "That was the only time."

"Did you like it?"

There was no way John could convincingly bullshit that question in the negative. "Yes."

"It's an android, John. What about it did you like?"

"The same as any omega hookup at an after party. She was soft, and gentle, and only wanted to do whatever I wanted to do. There was no pressure, no expectations, no obedience or orders." John wasn't sure whether Maldonado really wanted the truth on that question or not, but to hell with it. He was getting the truth out of her, for one brief time.

Sandra made a disgusted noise and roughly let go of John's hair, contemplating what to do with her. "All right, John. I'm going to trust you when you say this was the only time. I'm not going to punish you over some meaningless wedding sex. But I'm more concerned over your inappropriate attachment to a _robot._ So this is what's happening next. I've already told Rudy to wipe the after party from its neural net. You will never mention or reference the incident again. And you will not go in to work tomorrow. You and the DRN unit need a little break from each other. Rudy's going to keep it in stasis for the next two weeks while you contemplate your position in life. _If_ you do well in the upcoming ovulation, if you convince me that you are sufficiently devoted to this bonding and this family, then I will consider letting you have it back as a partner. Do you understand?"

"Yes." John was shaking in terror at his words, but forced herself to hold it together, squash her real feelings and make it through the evening. She had just promised Dorian never to let anything happen to her, and a mere four hours later the android was on the precipice of deactivation, entirely due to John's stupidity. The time for honesty was over, time for repression and acting had begun, yet again.

"Good." He tipped her chin towards him, away from the wall. "You've had a rough few years, John, and I feel like we need to go back to the beginning. If you're so unhappy you'd prefer to fuck a machine,then we have some work to do." He stroked John's face and kissed her with surprising softness. John, only half-faking with all those intoxicating pheromones blanketing the air, cautiously responded in kind.

She could tell Sandra was making a good-faith attempt at salvaging their relationship, as best as any alpha could. Six months ago, when John was struggling in to recover her body and brain in wretched agony, she would have welcomed such a gesture. John felt a surge of shame over the sucker punch she was about to deliver to her bondmate of twelve years, then a counter-wave of fear and anger over Dorian rotting in a forced coma in the lab, her beloved's memories erased like she was a _thing_ to be flipped on and off like a light switch. Then again even more betrayal and guilt as her body responded in pleasure at the regime of gentle touching. It was all too little, too late, and John had already made up her mind to leave with the ones she loved.

 

 

******

 

Much later in the night, when everyone was deep in sleep, John herself was supposedly tucked in but actuality was rolling around in agitation. She had the familiar fuzzy-headed sensation of saturation with alpha hormones, but that wasn't the source of her sleeplessness. Now that the decision had been made to leave, the urge to _run_ became overwhelming. John wantedescape as soon as possible, while there was still an opening, lest some new terrible event come crashing down on them. Sandra, ever the decent cop, was on the verge of discovering the full truth; it was only his alpha bias against the possibility of a bondmate's full emotional rebellion that prevented him from putting the picture together. _John falling in love and reverting to her switchy roots._ A preposterous notion.

Finally she couldn't stand it anymore, and resolved to at least check on Dorian, with vague notions of backing-up or swiping a copy of her memories somehow. John rolled out of her covers and crept through the halls, silently peeking in on her girls sleeping in the kids' wing. The urge to just grab them and make a dash for it was utterly tempting, and only her cold knowledge of the MX checkpoints around the city that night held her hand. She had to talk things over with Dorian, though.

Just as she was grabbing her coat to sneak out of the apartment, a soft voice came floating from the direction of the adult wing, "Where do you think you're going, John?"

It was Rudy. John froze by the front door, unsure how to respond. Rudy walked into the living room and flopped down on a couch, motioning her to come over. "You know, for a person that I'm reliable informed is a good detective, you make a terrible criminal. Going to the lab, I presume?"

John sat down next to her, but left her coat on. "Have you already erased the after party?" she asked, a little desperately.

"No. It was never my intention to permanently delete anything from Dorian. Why didn't you just come and ask me for help, John? I'm not going to turn you two in."

"You're ... not?" The notion that Rudy might be covering for them had not crossed her mind.

Rudy sighed at her nestmate's ignorance. "John, Dorian's an _android._ She has a neural net, not a brain, so she has no capacity to hide anything from me. You don't think I've already seen memories of you two sneaking around?"

"Why haven't you said anything?"

"You have the right to make your own decisions for your life. And the DRNs ... what has happened to the DRNs is a travesty. It's the least I could do, to help one of them find a small bit of happiness, considering I'm one of the ones that helped sell them into slavery." Her voice was shaking, bitter. John didn't realize -- or didn't remember -- Rudy's own guilty conscience over the DRN decommissioning. Or perhaps Rudy too had finally reached an unendurable breaking point.

"We're going away," John whispered. It was the first time she had said the words aloud. "Will you help us? Or at least look the other way?"

"I will help you, John, but only on one condition. You have to take Allen, too."

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the infamous "child death competition." I've to keep the violence down to a minimum, but it's still obviously a difficult section; proceed at your own risk.

The next day at noon, John twiddled with a sugar stick in her tea, trying to look inconspicuous. As instructed she hadn't reported to work, but although Sandra hadn't said anything about going out midday, it still felt like a violation of the spirit of his orders. He was busy with details for the evening's Valediction ceremony for Charlie, though, and John wasn't directly breaking any rules. She couldn't risk going to the lab, of course; she felt certain Maldonado would be checking that Dorian was deactivated, and had to trust Rudy to take care of the android end of things. John had insisted on this meeting after her late-night talk, though. Before their planning went any further, she had to hear from Allen herself.

Allen had been granted permission to attend a doctor's check-up, a standard one a week after bonding. Customarily the alpha bondmate came too, but Stahlo had declared he knew the routine, and consigned the task to one of the other nestmates. She was discretely waiting in the car, having agreed to let Rudy take her to the appointment behind Stahlo's back. It was under these inauspicious conditions that John was meeting them at a nearby coffee shop. And when she laid eyes on her, John saw why Stahlo wasn't allowing her to leave the apartment. Every patron of the coffee shop could see it too, wide eyes staring briefly at the young omega clearly under severe reprimand, before dropping their gaze.

"Allen," John choked out. "Are you okay?" A stupid question, John thought as soon as the words came out, for she obviously _wasn't_ the slightest bit okay. Allen shuffled towards the table and gingerly sat down at their corner table, unsteadied by the arm still in a cast. The skin on her face glowed a slight neon green tint through the bruises, the tell-tale sign of repeated dermal regeneration treatments.

"Not gonna lie, I've been better, John," she replied, and picked up the coffee Rudy placed before her and inhaled its rich fumes. At least her teenager sense of snark seemed to be intact. "So, I hear you've got a little conspiracy going."

John impulsively glanced around, still incredulous that they were really talking about this in public. But in actuality it was safer and harder to trace than any amount of sneaking around in the shadows. The place wasn't particularly crowded, so they were unlikely to be overheard so long as they kept their voices down. "We're going to Utah. My sister and her family live there. I just ... I can't ..." She still couldn't bring herself articulate what exactly she was running away from, or why, and the shame of it threatened to overwhelm her resolve.

Allen reached out her free hand to rest on John's, fingers warm from gripping the scorching coffee mug. "It's all right John, I understand. You're going with Dorian? You love her?" John could only nod. "And you're taking Sarika and Lukas?"

"Yes. Dorian mentioned that there are legal protections for omegas in Utah. If we make it out of Columbia and Oregon. Or Wyoming." Again John realized how at sea she was with the whole plan, without Dorian around to plot out the details. Even the legality of the situation was vague to her. She doubted Sandra would care _that_ deeply about another two kids disappearing, but it was possible he would fight custody just to spite her. Or maybe he even thought having his children raised as switches was worse than dying in the Trials, John didn't really know.

"Sarika's not going to go quietly without Maartie."

"I ... know," John replied, although she had hardly thought of it. Bringing Maartie was not an option; since she wasn't a blood relative of John's, it would be outright kidnapping. "And what about you, Allen? Are you ready to leave everyone you know behind? Rudy, Jaden, Sandra?"

Allen shifted her gaze to her mother for an instant before returning to stare straight at John, her puffy eyes nevertheless filled with clarity of purpose. "I don't want to, but I don't have a lot of choice."

John stared back at her, and decided not to beat around the bush. She was a bonded omega now, not a young girl. "You do have a choice. You can do what the rest of us have done: Give in, give your bondmate what he wants, and be a good little submissive omega. Tell me why that's so impossible for you, before I think about bringing you with us and ruining the life of a hysterical young bride distraught about her new status."

She crossed her arms, a feat with one in a sling. "Do you really believe that? By my ancestors, _look_ at me."

"I believe that's what people will say, yes. That you were having trouble adjusting and that I, in my depraved switchiness, took advantage of that. They'll probably even say we ran off together, as the android story's a little implausible. Prove me wrong, Allen. This is your only chance at bonding, your only chance at children. Stahlo will destroy your future in academia even in Utah. Look me in the eye and tell me you want to be a switch. I don't think you even know what it means."

The young omega sank her tiny frame back in the chair, with her good hand still tucked behind the broken one. Rudy, who had watched the whole conversation in muted sadness, shot visual daggers at John for daring to beat down her already-downtrodden daughter. Somehow John knew that a few pointed questions were a drop in the bucket to her now.

"You're right, John. I really have no idea what's it's like, socially or culturally, to be a switch. Before I got married I never thought about my own sexual proclivities. I just knew getting bonded was a duty to be performed, the first in a long line of duties. I submitted to get bonded to someone I barely knew, how hard could the rest of it be? But ... like you ... I can't. I can't let him win. It feels like drowning, like committing suicide in my soul, to let him win. And he can't let me win either. He's going to kill me sooner or later, you know. That's why I want to go with you. When push comes to shove, I want to live."

Rudy, actively suppressing sobs, curled her arms around her, and they rested their foreheads together. "We should have made you an alpha," Rudy whispered. Allen shuddered at the words.

"I just want to be myself. I guess in the eyes of the world, that really does make me a switch."

 

******

 

The next day, at precisely eight pm, the entire Maldonad clan gathered in their living room in front of a giant wall screen to watch Charlie's rounds in the Trials, along with the other 57,237 six-year-olds competing that day. The numbers increased with every biannual contest; with only 5000 alpha slots available, the odds were down to a dismal 1 in 11 overall, and Charlie's bracket had a total of twelve youngsters. When Maldonado had done it some 35 years prior, the odds were still a managable 1 in 7.

John forced herself to attend to the screen as the Invocation blessings droned on. Truthfully she never could stomach it, and ever since getting married had habitually gotten herself assigned to security during the actual contest. Subsequently this was only the fourth time she had to endure the familial group viewing. The other three times, her children had died. Roi and Gabe hadn't even made it out of the first round. Anzu survived to the surrealist second round, which merely prolonged the agony; it gave her a glimmer of hope only to have it ripped apart as the boy faced the top contender in his bracket and became confused in a low-gravity simulation. John had never actually sat through the full three rounds to the bitter end.

The platitudes of the Invocation over, Rudy keyed in the code for Charlie's bracket, and video of the six one-on-one battles promptly popped up on the screen. For over two generations, the modern Trials had been conducted in increasingly sophisticated virtual reality, so the real children themselves were not visible to viewers. Charlie and his opponents were tucked into specialized VR pods at the old arena, and if -- or when -- they fell in the game, were swiftly injected with neurotoxins that killed them almost instantly and automatically cremated right in the chamber. What appeared on the screen were avatars, which varied superficially by appearance but all had exactly the same physical capabilities. For it was _mental_ skill -- and associated abilities like speed of reflexes -- that was being tested, not variable characteristics such as height that would become meaningless as the kids grew into adults.

An alpha announcer described the first environment the kids would encounter for the audience, and as he set the stage -- which the children would not be privy to until they were dropped into it -- John and the other adults silently assessed Charlie's competition. In the first round there were six matches of two children each, chosen by a complex algorithm. The Trials made no pretense of randomness and paid only lip service to fairness. The top ten percent of contenders were evenly distributed through the brackets and never faced each other, so only through a major upset could a lower-ranked child succeed. And everyone knew that families that had already lost ten or more children, like the Maldonads, faced less competition in their rounds.

Indeed this seemed to be the case for Charlie: His highest ranked opponent, whom he'd probably face in the last round, was only ranked at the 62nd percentile. Charlie's own rank was a virtually-guaranteed 98. All the others were at or below average; one boy didn't even _have_ a rank. John squinted a bit to read the scrolling details on the screen on that child. With a surge of bile, she realized from the impossible-to-pronounce voweless name that the child was Salish, or from one of legions of other Native groups further north. There must have been a raid on some Native villages for "overpopulation," as the coastal authorities were wont to do every few years. A month ago he had been a she, and now he had been turned into one of the things his people hated most, and faced certain death. His parents likely mourned him the day he was taken away.

Round one involved a faux-aquatic simulation, a vast 3D arena filled with roving carnivorous fish, electric eels, and subtly cued poisonous kelp. In the first round, the environment itself was the primary competition, and often the lowest ranked boys never made it to see their actual opponents. In this simulation, the children were dropped at opposite ends of the circular game space, and had to swim for a central platform. Through manipulation of the arena, they could make it more difficult for their opponent to safely pass. If both parties successfully made it, then it became a straightforward duel to the death.

Charlie's avatar electronically plunked down into the field, along with the others on five smaller split screens, colored blobs with cartoonish faces floating in the not-water. Immediately all contenders were attacked by some sort of monstrous stinging jellyfish creature. In the first five seconds of the contest, three in their bracket froze in fear and were swallowed up. The proportion was mimicked across the Trials, and a running tally in the bottom corner of the screen recorded how many remained alive: _43,987._

Watching the number trickle downwards with a numb horror, John felt herself beginning to dissociate. She couldn't look away, couldn't leave the room, so she groped for _something_ to focus on that would take her attention away from the ghastly count. _41,109._ Charlie had gracefully shot away from the jellyfish and was busily plotting out a swim course that would divert many of the sea creatures towards his opponent. John found she couldn't watch him, either. The other kid, a 44, was valiantly hanging in there and inching towards the central platform despite the increased predator density, and very soon it would devolve to hand-to-hand combat. John indulged in a three-second reprieve and closed her eyes, counting out the unendurable. _One, two, three,_ _37,564._

She diverted her attention to one of the contests with lone survivors. Surprisingly, the switch kid -- John couldn't think of her as an alpha, no matter what she had been injected with -- was not only still in it, but doing well. She had phenomenal reflexes and was deftly darting around obstacles like it was a lazy swim in a pond. Lucky for her, John thought, an underwater environment was something she was used to, despite likely never stepping foot in a VR chamber before. Round two, where her opponent wouldn't conveniently drop out at the beginning, would probably doom her. _32,331._

Charlie and many of the other top contenders arrived at their platforms, usually first, and were busily rigging up traps for their lagging opponents. John resolutely focused on the switch kid as she evaded an octopus guard and hesitated over how to approach the black round central station. She had no training, no cultural knowledge of how the Trials operated, and no opponent to gather clues from on how to act -- but nevertheless was doing a remarkable job analyzing the situation. She settled on an unconventional strategy from above, indicating superior spatial reasoning, and triumphantly yanked herself into the platform with a fluid kick. Her square on the vidscreen blinked red, indicating an upset, and John knew with sickening certainty that viewership on their bracket just shot up. She realized with even more nausea that if the child somehow made it through round two, Charlie was going to have to kill her.

Within ten minutes, round one wrapped up for their bracket. Charlie managed to dispatch his opponent without contact, by luring him into an anesthetizing kelp trap and letting the octopus do the dirty work. The contest reset and screen went to recaps and a downward ticking clock summarizing general results -- _27,138 --_ while the survivors had a break, awaiting all the other brackets to be finished. John glanced around at her fellow nestmates: Rudy shivered with fear and barely repressed panic, Valerie gave her a thumbs up, Cam busied herself in comforting some young ones too terrified to watch. Sandra sat impassively apart from everyone, his face blank without preordained expectations. No one cried or cheered or said a word. They had done this too many times.

Round two, the environment was no more hospitable. The simulation was notorious for surrealism, known for fucking with the children's perceptions in unexpected and terrifying ways. The key element to be tested was adaptability, even to the impossible. In this year's round, Winter of 2049, the children appeared suddenly in the interior of what appeared to be a giant metal sphere, while lightening and rain lashed out from the center of the sphere. From the rain pattern John could tell that gravity was subtly altered -- as it so often was in this round -- expanding outward from the center point, meaning that the children were noticably lighter if they jumped, and had to lean into the sphere as they ran. Puddles of water that accumulated on the outside of the sphere attracted the lightening, and Charlie's opponent received a severe shock while absentmindedly standing on the edge of such a pool. Unlike round one, the environment itself was not designed to kill, so the stunned boy's avatar only dropped to the floor of the sphere for a few seconds. That was enough of an opening, though, for Charlie to swoop in on him, dancing around the dangerous puddles and deafening lightning strikes. The competing boy woke up just in time to roll away, and rather than directly fighting the two of them began a complex psychological battle, each trying to fool the other into making a mistake.

Yet again John couldn't watch the denouement. She refocused on the Salish kid's maroon avatar in a smaller section of the screen. She was just standing there while the rain poured out in all directions, staring down her opponent, the 62. Although the audience had no audio and no hint of facial expressions, John imagined her studying 62, trying to determine if some kind of alliance or other solution could save them both. But that was not an option; only one child could proceed alive, and the rest of the bracket could rot in their pods for hours waiting for their match to resolve. John wondered if a six-year-old could contemplate suicide, to save another, although that would be futile with another round awaiting them. Or perhaps it was the opposite: The girl saw the opportunity to prove her worth and the worth of her tribe in the arena of her enemies, and genuinely endeavored to accomplish what not one in ten thousand switch kids could. And indeed, in the blink of an eye with malignant speed, she striked.

In the background John heard more moans of relief, and knew that Charlie had won and was moving on the round three. They hadn't paid much attention to the other contests thus far. But when the Salish kid leveraged the unusual gravity to send her opponent flying into the electrical maelstrom at the center of the sphere, the rest of the family suddenly noticed. Charlie's entire bracket began blinking a crazy red, as the announcer and half the city began focusing on the miraculous underdog. _14,511._

"What the fuck is happening?" Val whispered, next to John on the couch. On her other side, Sarika grabbed her hand and squeezed it tight.

"That girl," John murmured back, forgetting the appropriate pronouns, "she can win." As if on cue, computer analysis of her performance thus far spit out a percentile rating: 92. Rudy let out a strangled moan, and John couldn't handle glancing at her.

After five nail-biting minutes the third duel of their bracket finished up, and round three began. Under any other circumstances, John would have vigorously rooted for the switch kid. Under the present state of affairs, though, it was watching a slow-motion horror show, one for which it was impossible to be glad for any outcome. For if Charlie went down, it was entirely possible that that the six other little ones sitting in front of them with frightened glazed expressions would go down too. Never in her life did John hate her chosen lifestyle more, or have a greater urge to snatch her children and flee. If it was the last thing she ever did, she would ensure Sarika and Lukas never had to sit through this abomination again.

The three opponents -- Charlie, the Native child, and an unfortunately average 51 -- faced each other on a triangle on a dusty plain, boulders and tree limbs strewn about. Round three was never a surprise. It was designed to mimic the traditional Trials, where a scant three generations ago contestants really did go at each other in a melee with sticks and stones. Towards that end the avatars changed, imposing a shimmering hologram of their actual faces over the cartoonish form. The idea was to emphasize that this wasn't a video game, but a real event where real people died at your own hand. For the first time in the competition, it also granted the competitors some personal knowledge of their opponents, allowing them to psychically size each other up. Charlie instinctually dismissed the unnerved 51 at a glance, and gazed with open hostility at the figure before him. Since the Salish still practiced the ancient custom of reshaping their children's heads to a unique flattened form, Charlie could tell she was a Native by culture, not just ancestry, even without hearing her accent or seeing her clothes. A switch that had been forced into the Trials but had somehow survived all the way to the end.

Charlie took four steps towards the 51, who with wild-eyed panic spied the protective boulders but was immobilized in exhaustion and fear. Instead of attacking, however, Charlie flicked a hand signal to him, and the boy blinked in surprise. It was an offer to work together to take out the third, before turning on each other. The Native girl continued to peer at the two of them with cold appraising eyes. Charlie bade the 51 to pick up a rock and fling it at her, just to test the waters. She easily swerved away from the projectile, just as she had avoided every other obstacle in her previous matches. With a fluid movement, almost a dance, she swiveled to pick up the very same rock and launched it like a missile at the 51's head. For an instant he almost seemed relieved as he fell, for the ordeal was finally over. The holographic face flicked off a second before the avatar.

The two remaining contestants resumed the stare down, and then it was the switch child who motioned with a hand signal. Without wavering her stony gaze or so much as a goading smirk, she made a cutting motion vertically down her body, then slashed across her neck and pulled down. The intent was clear: _I will gut you like a fish._

And with that, despite all of Charlie's training, John could see the final, impulsive anger take him over. This was supposed to be _his_ victory, not some random primitive's whose ancestors were probably cursing the day she was born from their watery graves. Not a switch kid who had less than zero appreciation for what an _honor_ it was to be a chosen alpha. He grabbed the nearest stick and rushed at her, probably with the intention of knocking her down or at least off-balance. But the girl with the astounding reflexes easily moved out of the way and tripped him, and without any sophisticated forms, dropped another rock on his head.

Rudy dropped her head into her hands and began to silently weep. Anga, the next nestling in line who was turning five in less than a month, began to wail. Maldonado closed his eyes.

For a stunned moment no one moved, and they left the vidscreen on. The video changed to footage of the real Native boy -- forever now an alpha, even in John's eyes -- being helped out of the VR pod. His eyes bored into all the gawkers with much the same steely look he had given Charlie, with neither regret nor horror at his new station in life, and when the alpha announcer tried to ask him a question he spit in his face.

The Trials were winding down now. _5147._ The announcers began to dribble forth the usual honeyed platitudes for the massive loss of life, itself almost as much a ritual as the opening Invocation. _The_ _ir ancestors will let them be reborn_ _,_ they said, or _It's better to have lived and died than never lived._ _Would you prefer they'd never been born at all?_ Utter bullshit, thought John. It _was_ more humane to never have been born at all. Sarika buried her face in John's side and she pulled the mourning girl into an embrace and kissed the top of her head. She glanced over at tiny crying Lukas clinging to Cam, too young to understand what was going on but old enough to catch that everyone else was upset. John renewed her vow to get away, to wake up Dorian and run as far as they could for a different and less cruel life, this week, tomorrow. Not even one more ovulation, not one more egg.

Maldonado opened his eyes. He flicked off the screen and retreated to his room, alone, without saying a word or shedding a single tear.

 


	8. Chapter 8

The next day was a somber funerary occasion across all of Vancouver. Good taste dictated that the winners stay inside for muted celebrations during the 24-hour mourning period, as tens of thousands of families fasted and conducted private Farewell ceremonies. John previously had the vague notion of getting out on the _second_ day during the victory party, but the loss of Charlie shot that plan to hell. And now Rudy was a grieving mess, so it felt obscene to ask her for help with Dorian, with Allen, with anything. After Sandra and Rudy retired to their respective rooms after the end of the Trials, John helped Val and Cam calm down the children, but internally her mind was spinning on _what now?_ The panicked part of her told her to flee, the very next morning right after Farewell, especially since it was the only point in the foreseeable future when she'd be able to speak with Allen. The rational cop part of her told her that was stupid and reckless, that if they were caught there would never be another chance.

Then, mid-afternoon, John's cell beeped with a encrypted message without a sender. _Take kids to lab tomorrow after farewell,_ _bring nothing,_ _say nothing,_ was all it said. Must be Rudy, although how she could plan for a bunch of runaways at a time like this was beyond John.

So John endured her last night at home, mostly hanging out with the kids. She made a point to talk to Jaden and give her a hug, played a board game with Maartie and Sarika, and let all the little ones climb all over her back and make a fort out of the "John Mountain." For one way or another, caught or not, she would never again be welcome in this home after tomorrow.

The following morning the entire troop dressed in mourning white and shuttled down to Maldonado's plot to bury Charlie with his ancestors under the spread of a huge old oak. John was gratified to see Allen there, white flowers pinned to her as all her full siblings and her parents. They didn't exchange so much as a glance. When the young omega recited the Farewell blessings, however, it seemed extra poignant, for John knew she was saying goodbye not to her doomed brother, but her parents, grandparents, an entire network of comforting ghosts she was about to cut off from herself. Out of all of them Allen had the most to lose. The younger kids would adapt to a new culture and find mates, John had Dorian and a complete absence of self-respect, but what would Allen have once the day ended? She was losing her honor, her career, and her only access to children. What was she looking for at the end of the rainbow?

After the ceremony, John picked up Lukas and casually walked over to Sarika and Maartie huddling with some of the younger ones. "Hey, Sarika, I thought we'd go out for a walk right now." Generally code for getting ice cream, without all the other kids clambering to go.

"Sure!" she said, jumping a little. "Come on Maartie, let's go!"

"Um, no. Today I thought we could just go together, just the three of us."

"What! Why? Why can't she come?"

John risked a sideways glance at Sandra, speaking to some other guests only a few meters away. If he noticed John trying to isolate just her own children, the plan could be pooched before it even began. Fortunately Cam sidled up to the rescue.

"Sarika, Maartie needs to work on her volcano project. And I think after today's sadness, John just wants to spend a little time alone with you and Lukas."

John locked eyes with her for an instant, and knew she was in on it. "Thank you, for everything," she murmured. Cam just nodded curtly and shepherded the other kids, including a disappointed-looking Maartie, into the van. John wondered for an instant if she hated her for the loss of status they were all about to be dealt, or for stealing "her" kids; or if somehow she understood, as she seemed to known them all better than they knew themselves. At least she understood for Lukas, John had to hope.

Holding Sarika's hand and with Lukas nestled on one shoulder, John walked around the corner and didn't look back. As soon as they were out of eyesight, she hailed a cab to go straight to the lab.

Sarika caught on quickly that ice cream was not in the cards. John didn't dare take the time to stop, for they had only limited hours to get out of the city and ... where? Even in a speedy automated vehicle, it could take ten hours to get to the border of Utah. The futility of the whole scheme began to settle on John like a boulder rolling down a hill. She couldn't even get her kids a few miles without endless whining, let alone nine hundred miles. One baby step at a time. Dorian first.

"Where are we _going?_ This isn't a walk _or_ ice cream," Sarika complained as they bustled into the lab.

"We're, uh, here to check on Dorian. Go keep yourself busy for a few minutes." Sarika flopped onto a bean bag in the lab, and picked up a controller for the Dorian's game. John rushed to the back room, sleepy Lukas still in tow, to see what was going on with Dorian.

She was still laying on a table in black-eyed stasis.

John ran over but realized she didn't have a clue what to do, or if she _should_ do anything. Maldonado might be alerted if she disconnected the wrong wire or something. Surely Rudy would handle ...

"Really, John, don't touch anything." Allen and Rudy had slipped in, and John jerked up with relief. Allen dropped a small duffel bag on a nearby tray.

"Are you ...?" John started, but Rudy was already rushing around. She picked up a laser probe and popped open the panel on Dorian's lifeless cheek.

"Yeah, haven't been in the lab for the last couple of days, or I would have done this already," Rudy muttered as her steady hands dug in. She popped some kind of chip out of its gooey purple hole, and -- in a move that upped the creep factor to ten -- inserted it into a disconnected MX head. Then she tapped out some instructions on the monitor, and yanked out the fiberoptic cable attached to Dorian's skull and attached it to the disembodied head. "There. Dorian's transponder chip. Now the system thinks she's still here, deactivated. Just a few more instructions so she doesn't query the network upon awakening and ... there."

She handed John the purple wand to wake Dorian up. It was the fastest hack job John had ever seen Rudy perform. "Do I just ...?"

"Yeah, yeah, the temple, hurry up. You've got a plane to catch. You'll be lucky to even get a three hour head start."

"A plane? The airport? Rudy, flights to switch country are monitored for unaccompanied omegas with minors. They'll alert the VPD before we even get on a plane."

"I didn't say anything about the airport. Oh, by my ancestor's sakes, let me." She ripped the wand out of John's hand and pressed it to Dorian's temple. Her eyes filled in blue, then her cheek flashed red around and around as she processed Rudy's instructions. Finally she glanced at John.

"You're here. I remember you. I haven't been decommissioned."

John dropped the toddler to the ground next to Allen and leaned over to give her a kiss. In front of everyone, for there would be no more sneaking around. "We're going. I finally made my choice. It's time."

Dorian sat up and gently touched John's cheek, an expression of pride and joy or her face. Then she turned to Rudy. "What is the plan? Did you contact Jacob Kennex-Saalati?"

"Her name's hyphenated? Of course it is. And sure, assume I don't know the plan," John grumbled.

"You _don't_ know the plan, John," Rudy said with a sigh. "Okay, short version, you're going north and meeting a bush pilot near Lynn Canyon. Your sister, quite resourceful. I sent you the coordinates, Dorian. There are fewer checkpoints in the north."

"But not none. We'll still have to cross Quinalt Bridge."

"Yeah. Here." She rummaged in a drawer and handed John some fake identi-scan cards and a vial. "New IDs are in the system. Fortunately I thought ahead and did that day before yesterday. Unfortunately it won't last long once, um, Sandra flags your appearance."

"Synthetic alpha pheromones? This will not fool an MX," Dorian said.

"It's a big bridge, there always a human on duty somewhere. Oh, before I forget." Rudy handed John and Allen each a bitcoin stick. "Ten thousand credits, uh, each."

"Rudy, we can't take Sandra's money, that would be grand larc..."

"It's not his. It's mine."

"Our salaries are legally in his name. Where did this come from?"

"Oh, odd online jobs here and there. You think Dorian's the only one to release valuable products onto the net? Take it, you'll need it, John. You might not have a job for awhile, and Dorian's game, while clever, is only bringing in a trickle."

Allen reached over to awkwardly hug her, one handed. "Thank you, mama," she murmured. Rudy tipped her head so their foreheads were resting together, then enveloped her in a full hug.

"Go. Live. Send me letters of your exploits, child."

"I may never be able to come back," Allen whispered. "What if I never see you or father again?"

"I left my parents too. We all make decisions we have to live with. You need to go, love, now."

"Rudy, I can't begin to thank you ..." John started.

"Yes, yes, you can all write me heartfelt emails when you're out of the city. I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown as it is, so will you _g_ _o_ _?_ "

Before any of them could object further, Rudy had them gather their meager possessions -- the athletic bag, a portable charger and a few extra parts for Dorian, an even smaller portable charger for John's leg, and whatever was in their pockets -- and shoved all five of them out the door into a rental car with automated return. The running had officially began.

 

******

 

The bag turned out to hold some small items for the kids, put together by Cam, John suspected. It contained one change of clothes each including pajamas, Sarika's favorite doll, Lukas' tiger pillow, and two kid edutablets loaded with their favorite games and books. Also, to John's surprise, sedation patches. John had Dorian slap one on each kid almost as soon as they entered the car, while keeping an eye on their vitals. Sarika was close to meltdown as it was; John couldn't think about it right now. She could explain and apologize once they made it to the plane.

John's phone beeped as they made their way north. She pulled it out, swearing to herself for forgetting its tracking abilities. It was Maldonado. Instructions for the evening, after the mourning fast was completed.

With a growl, John unceremoniously cracked the window and tossed it out. "Anybody else have a phone?" she asked.

Allen shook her head. "Victor took it."

John swerved her head to glance at the passenger seat, not even bothering to hide all the repressed hate for an instant. "Don't worry, chickadee, we'll get you a new one."

They were approaching the on ramp for the bridge, so John pulled off into a side neighborhood. "So, our story. Fake alpha or no alpha?" It was just like reviewing case files before all their domestic abuse calls, only _they_ were the perps.

"Rudy's forged ID lists you as an alpha, so I don't think we have much of a choice. But also given Allen's condition and locked collar, she's obviously supposed to be under the supervision of an alpha," Dorian volunteered. "Plus switches would not be wearing white on this day."

John glanced down at herself, having forgotten the funerary clothes. "All right, asshole abuser it is. This day keeps getting better and better. I'll say we're going to a Farewell for my sister up in Queenston. Dorian, you're our synthetic martha, Sarika's our rishon. Allen, you're ... how old?"

"Twenty-five."

"Twenty-five, right. Everybody got it?"

"Um, John? You're still wearing _your_ collar."

 _"Fuck."_ She ripped it off and tossed it to Dorian in the back seat. "I wish we had some time to practice this little roleplay. Ah well, here it goes." John twisted the seal off, and both she and Allen recoiled from the fumes.

"WOW," they said simultaneously.

"Yeah, only use a little of that, John. It's kind of strong."

With a flash of horror, John realized she was half-hard just from the smell. Based on Allen's flushed face it was having a similar effect on her.

"You two going to be able to handle this?" Dorian commented from the back. "Maybe _I_ should be the alpha."

"Shut up, bot. Omega biology sucks." John dabbed a miniscule swab on her neck, then quickly recapped the vial. "Okay, if this doesn't work, I'm just going to have to charm them with my lovely toppish demeanor."

Dorian snorted as the John started up the car. Up on the ramp, Dorian said, "The far right lane has a human inspector, John."

"No one we know, right?"

"Not that I'm aware. The other three lanes are manned by MXs, so this is our only choice."

"The MXs really can tell that we're faking?"

Dorian snorted again. "Yes. You two really have distinctive smells, you know. Plus it's quite different before ovulation than after, even for the same person. _And_ the alpha pheromone is patently artificial, lacking all the complexity of a real ..."

"Okay, okay, sorry to offend your android sensibilities. Allen, roll your window down to air out the car."

They eased up to the checkpoint window, and John was a bit relieved to see the officer was an omega. Then she chided herself on that ridiculous stereotyping. An omega might be more hard-ass than an alpha, and certainly much more prone to suspicion.

John leaned out the window to hand over the IDs with an impatient indifference to the officer's authority. "Can you hurry this up? We're late for a Farewell."

The checkpoint agent scanned the IDs and nothing beeped, so clearly an alert had not yet been issued. She glanced at John and Allen in the front, then Dorian in the backseat with the unconscious kids leaning against her. "You're bringing your ... android ... to a funeral?" John could tell "sexbot" was on the tip of her tongue.

"Synthetic martha, may as well put it to use. Look at those kids, they're never going to stand through the whole ceremony unsupervised. My wife _obviously_ needs assistance." She said this with as much casual contempt as she could muster.

The officer squinted at Allen's arm. "That injury is borderline reportable."

"What, omega, were you there? You don't know what she likes, or what she can handle. Ask her."

John half expected Allen to play the broken submissive, eyes cast downward and downtrodden. Instead she stared down the officer with her blue-gray eyes, defying her to make an issue out of it. The checkpoint agent apparently decided that was consent enough, and handed back their ID cards. "I'm sorry for your loss," she said in a monotone, and waved them through.

They sped up to exactly the speed limit, everyone breathing a sigh of relief. "Three miles down, nine hundred to go," John muttered. "Dorian, how long to the air strip?"

"It's up a surprising distance in the foothills, so I estimate forty minutes."

"And then how long to the Utah border?"

"In a light aircraft, perhaps four hours."

"So Sandra's gonna notice before we cross over. We've only got until the breaking of the fast, tops. What happens if an alert goes out before we make it to the border?"

"It's not as if Columbia Province has its own air force, John. As long as we make it out of the Vancouver metro area and above drone airspace, we should be fine."

"Father's not going to shoot us down, by my ancestor's sake," Allen said, her good arm tucked behind the wounded one again.

"Maybe with _you_ in the plane he won't," John retorted. "I doubt he's going to give a damn about Dorian and me after today. What about Stahlo, is he going to notice you're missing this afternoon?"

"I believe mama told him I was at our house, while she told father that I was back at Victor's."

John rolled her eyes at the ruse. "Let's hope that trick works better than when Jacob and I tried it when I was seven." She looked the young passenger up and down, as she slouched in the seat with her arms crossed. "You really okay, kiddo?"

"I'd like to remove this collar now," she said, barely above a whisper. "I assume they'll have to cut it off."

Dorian reached forward and fingered the back her neck. With a quick flash of blue, it split open at the invisible seam and fell forward into Allen's lap. "Medical override," Dorian said. "Now you're free."

Allen let the metallic band rest in her lap for a good minute without touching it, before wordlessly handing it back to Dorian to store in the bag. She had only worn it for eight days.

 

******

 

The kids were still asleep when they found the airstrip and plane that would whisk them to safety, so Dorian carried them both out of the car. The "airstrip" was literally just a portion of an old logging road as it meandered through a clearing, so not a place anyone would think to direct satellite or drones to look for a light unauthorized aircraft. Out of the plane ambled a lithe omega in jeans and a short jacket, with long loosely braided hair and dark mahogany skin. A Native, although John could not identify her tribe. There were many Native groups in Utah, and she only had passing familiarity with any of them.

"John? Dorian? Hi, I'm Biaisa." To John's untrained ear, it sounded like two different words: _Bia-Isa_. She extended her hand to shake. "I'm Jacob's bondmate."

"Really? She sent _you_ as the pilot? Shocked she didn't fly out here for the adventure herself."

Biaisa laughed. "Oh, she was tempted, believe me. But she's wanted for 'questioning' here in Columbia for some of her protests back in the day, so we decided she'd better stay at home. You kind of look like her, you know. Only you're taller."

"Yeah, I'm taller than everybody. This is Allen, um, Rudy's daughter, I guess you talked to Rudy. And Dorian's holding my kids Sarika and Lukas, who may not be too happy when they wake up."

"You didn't tell them?" Biaisa frowned, as if a two-year-old's permission was somehow necessary.

"It didn't seem wise to have a screaming kid in meltdown while trying to make a break from the city. Sarika's ... not going to be happy leaving her sisters behind."

"Poor child. She has to abandon most everything she knows. Well, we have two, if it's any consolation. Eight and eleven. Six other young kids in the neighborhood loop, too. Kind of cold out this time of year, though, so there's less running around the street than later in the year."

"Street. Right. I don't think Sarika's ever played in a street or the woods or anything. Everyone she knows lives in an apartment. Parks are about it."

"They'll be an adjustment, I'm sure. Come on, let's get up in the air and out of drone space, then we can talk. I doubt there'll be a province-wide alert, but let's not take any chances."

They scrambled into the tiny double-engine aircraft. Dorian propped the kids up with pillows while strapping them in, then gently removed the sedation patches. "They'll transition to normal sleep within about a half an hour," she said, seating herself next to them. John crammed in on the other side of the kids, while Allen sat in the copilot's seat, openly fascinated.

The plane shot up in a near vertical ascent, narrowly missing the treeline as they climbed to the sky. Once the roller coaster leveled out, Allen turned to her, eyes shining. "You've done this before, haven't you?"

"Never so close to the city, but yes. Usually when omegas run, they go for the Native villages on the coast, north or south, depends. More and more runaways in recent years, I don't know if your aware. Maybe you are, being with the police and all," she said, with some distaste.

"That wasn't our department," John responded testily. It wasn't as if she and Dorian were personally responsible for Columbia province's oppressive switch policies. Actually she _hadn't_ heard about a runaway problem at all, but it was the kind of thing that would be censored anyway.

"Right. Well, people are finally reaching their breaking point with the Trials. The numbers are a horror show."

"We know," Allen muttered. "My brother died yesterday, and he was a 98."

"I'm ... sorry. Although, really, ranking little kids? Don't you find that to be horrible too?"

Allen tipped her head now, thoughtful. "I never considered it before. It's just part of the process of finding the true alphas, the best of the best. But in some respects it's the ultimate in self-fulfilling prophesies, isn't it?"

Biaisa nodded, then glanced back at the girls, stirring from their drug-induced naps. "They're still normal, right? Still ..." She said a word that sounded like a slur of vowels to John, something like "sheh-ah-i-a."

"What does that mean?" Allen asked.

"Sort of like 'true people' in Nemic. I mean, they haven't been turned into alphas yet, right?"

"Would it be a problem if they were?" John asked in a low tone.

"It wouldn't disqualify you from residence or anything, but yes, there's always some controversy over the ones that have been turned. A lot of the runaways, they run when they realize it's hopeless for their kids, _after_ injection."

"And such kids, they're not considered to be real people?" Allen asked, _her_ turn to be appalled. "It's not like the injection magically turns them into demons or evil spirits."

"No, I know. Its just a word. But just to warn you, it's common in Utah for people to think of the alphas as abominations. Or mutilated, as they've had a critical element of their sexuality stolen, the ability to bond."

"Are John and I considered sheaia?'

Biaisa grinned at her. "You are quick, you know that? Unfortunately, no. You are bonded to alphas, so you will never know the true intimacy of being with someone whom you are unconditionally devoted to, and they are equally devoted back. We'd just call you omegas. Or sometimes hetzi, the half-bonded."

 _Hetzi,_ John remembered the term now. Originally it stood for the tragedy of a bondmate dying before the second wedding ceremony, or used as an apocryphal threat of choosing one's mate poorly. There was always the slim chance that the second partner would chicken out after bonding the first partner, dooming their lover's only chance at having children. Allen was now a _hetzi._ It didn't seem so relevant a title for John, as she had Dorian, and her family.

Family that, right now, was screaming her lungs off.

"WHY ARE WE ON AN AIRPLANE? ARE WE RUNNING AWAY? WHERE IS CAM? WHERE IS MAARTIE? WHY ARE YOU DOING TH.." Dorian attempted to pull her in for a comforting embrace, but she flailed and shoved the android away. John tried to reason with them both.

"Listen, guys, I'm sorry, but I needed to protect you. Do want what happened to Charlie to happen to Lukas? Do you want to get married off to some guy who doesn't love you, just for convenience?"

"You disobeyed father! I want to go home! I want to go home! I waaaant ..." She dissolved into a puddle of hysteria, sobbing and thrashing in the seat. Lukas was crying too, mirroring her sister's terror and anger, and all John could think of to do was hold them tight, waiting for the grief to drain out. Allen watched her ineffectual efforts with a shake of her head.

"By the ancestors, you suck as this, John."

"I'm _aware_ of that _,_ " snapped John. "You wanna try it?"

"Trade spots." They got up to shuffle positions in the cramped craft. To John's surprise, Lukas clung to her and cried harder, so she lifted the toddler up into a monkey hug and settled down in the copilot seat to rock her.

Allen gave Sarika some distance for a minute or so, then gently pulled the girl towards her good shoulder. "Sarika, do you trust me?"

Sarika sniffled but held herself together. "You disobeyed father too. Or did he send us all away?"

"No. I did disobey, both father and my bondmate. And so did John, and Dorian, and Rudy, and Cam."

"They ...they did?"

"Yeah. Because they knew I was getting hurt, and they knew that you might get hurt too. Do you see my arm?" She nodded. "My bondmate did that. So we decided to go to a different place, where there aren't any Trials, and you don't have to marry an alpha if you don't want to."

"But ... why didn't you take Maartie? Won't she get hurt too? Why did you leave her behind?" Sarika began crying again, more softly this time, and now Dorian rubbed her shoulders while Allen nestled her hair with her chin.

"Yeah. I'm sorry that we had to leave Jaden and Maartie and Anga and all the others behind. I'll be sorry about that forever. But kids have to go with a parent and none of their parents came with us, do you see? You're John's kids and she's the only parent that came. We're going to live with your mama's sister now for a little bit."

Sarika cast a dubious eye on Biaisa in front of her. "Is that her? She doesn't look like you, mama."

Biaisa, who up until that moment had let them work it out, turned around and gave her a quick smile and wave. "No, I'm your aunt Jacob's bondmate. My name's Biaisa."

Sarika stared at her lack of a collar and the rings on both index fingers. "Are you," -- she lowered her voice to a whisper -- " _switches?"_

"That's not the word we use for ourselves, but yes. Where we're going, most everybody is a switch."

"Are we switches now too? Are we _honorless?"_

John supplied her the answer. "We have a different type of honor now, Sarika. But yes, we are all switches, and always were." The girl buried her head deeper into Allen's shoulder, and again began to weep.

 

******

 

After another tense three hours and forty-five minutes, they finally crossed out of the vast emptiness that was Montana into Utah, one of the southernmost provinces of Canada. John had two contradictory narratives of Utah rolling in her head. One was Utah of her youth, the story the switches told. That was the story of the Grand Alliance, between the large settlements of Natives banding together west of the Rockies, combined with tiny groups of European switches and Algonquin runaways from the French north, pushed out of the increasingly converted eastern seaboard. Story after story told of those whose land was stolen and homes burned, children kidnapped and forcibly bonded, and they walked with nothing through over a thousand miles of desert and mountains to reach the fabled land of Utah. The area held out as a radical switch stronghold well into the previous century, when at last English Canada annexed them at near gunpoint. By that time, however, Enlightenment notions of at least nominal equal rights for all citizens had begun to take hold, and although Utah could no longer maintain its outright ban on the presence of alphas in the territory, culturally it remained a switchy outlier and a magnetic attraction for non-conformists of all types. John suspected one of the reasons Utah was allowed to survive was because it gave the troublemaking radicals an innocuous place to go. Like Jacob.

The other story, told by the rest of the alpha-dominated country, was the one of poverty-stricken Utah, backwards Utah. That of the lowest average wages in the country, the highest levels of people living off government assistance, the lowest student test scores, the highest number of rural residents, and the lowest levels of technology adoption, from vid phones to AI use. Too much uncontrolled breeding, too little economic development, they said. These indicators were constantly trotted out to demonstrate how the switches couldn't be expected to competently govern themselves. Not to mention political infighting that was was endemic and rampant, due to their utter lack of respect for authority. Utah always muddled through intermittent attacks on their autonomy, usually with some kind of budget cut in exchange for a de facto agreement to be left alone.

John couldn't be sure which story was true until they landed on the ground. Maybe both were true. She could only hope she wasn't subjecting her children to complete squalor. Wasattsi, the town they were headed into just a few miles north of the famous salt lake, contained orderly curved rows of houses from the air, some connected together into intricate loops. There seemed to be a lot of bike and lightweight e-vehicle riding, even in the dead of the winter, and slightly larger buildings that could be businesses clustered at the edges of every couple of loops. It looked more like a low-end family resort than a slum to John.

The plane came to a bumpy landing, and the dazed runaways stumbled out. John immediately realized the first order of business would be to acquire real winter clothing, for although the weather had been clear on the ride over an icy wind cut through their thin coastal jackets.

Then she spotted Jacob, standing near another much shorter omega, both of them waving and giving thumbs up. Biaisa hopped onto the asphalt and ran over to her bondmate for a kiss. Allen and Dorian wandered up on her from behind holding Sarika's hand, surveying the scene.

"She does look like you, John," Dorian said. "Like a shrunk-down version of you."

"Yeah," was all John could say, as the couple turned and approached them by the plane. Jacob looked like a _grown-up_ _,_ mature and stable and _parental,_ but her face was exhibited the same energetic intelligence as her childhood self. Truthfully, with age John didn't think she resembled herself so much as their ima, to the point John had to stop for a breath. They were both in their thirties now, only a bit younger now than John's parents back when she left all those years ago.

The first thing Jacob did was give John a huge hug. "I thought you were lost forever," she murmured through the embrace. "Ima and mama ordered me to never speak of you again. It really was like you were dead."

"I missed you too. But for this you've really got to thank Dorian. If it weren't for her, I ... I don't know what I would have done. I don't know if I'd even be alive today."

"Yes, of course. So glad to meet you in person finally, Dorian. And your children? And you must be Allen, Rudy Lom's child."

"She would still call me a child, yes."

John laughed, tension broken somewhat. "Kids are Sarika and Lukas. They could use some food, maybe meet their cousins, maybe some zone time with the TV. It's been a rough couple of days."

"Of course. Real quick though, this is my friend Leil. She's going to be your social worker."

"Wow, you do know everyone, don't you?" said John, a bit more sarcastically than she intended. _Social worker?_ What, were they wayward teenagers? Well technically one of them was.

"I _am_ on the town council. And a lot of runaways still make it to Utah, despite the best efforts of our good neighbors. There's a system in place for legal resettlement and acclimation."

John turned to Biaisa with a wry smile. "You married a politician? Now _there's_ a good move."

"I know. I regret it every day," Biaisa deadpanned, and John grinned.

Leil stepped forward with the determined clipboard look of bureaucrats everywhere. "You've got a more thorough orientation and medical documentation meeting scheduled for tomorrow morning, but right now you need to sign some papers. Especially for Dorian."

"Dorian?" John frowned.

"Medical documentation?" Allen said at the same time.

"I'm police property, John." Dorian said, with soft even tones. "You just stole me and took me across provincial lines."

"Unfortunately even here, synthetics like the DRN model do not possess equal 'personhood' rights, although some measures to that effect have made progress in the legislature," Leil said. "But we do have a provision to declare her your Synthetic Companion, since your alpha bondmate is clearly unsuitable for comfort during ovulation."

"Wait. Are you asking me to legally declare Dorian my _sexbot?"_

Leil clucked in disapproval. "I prefer to think of her as your new life partner. It's not about making you another being's owner, it's about declaring that you have an attachment to someone other than your biological bondmate. A sentient android is a perfectly reasonable choice to make under the circumstances." She shoved the tablet at John with the paperwork to sign. "This allows the Province of Utah to compensate Vancouver for the loss of its property, which you are expected to pay back in an negotiated payment schedule once employment has been found. It also declares that Lukas and Sarika are your biological children, and states that you have a reasonable fear of future physical or emotional harm to them through the actions of your bondmate."

That seemed a bit harsh to John at first glance. Sandra wouldn't _directly_ hurt any of his children. But his past actions had shown he was determined keep letting the younger ones injected and doomed in the fruitless quest for an aleph. And Allen was exhibit A on the dehumanizing and venal nature of the omega marriage system; even when its participants were technically of legal age, social pressure still demanded they marry for family status and connections, not true attachment. 

Sandra couldn't escape the system of honor and power that had created him in the first place. There was no Utah for the alphas, even if they had a mind to reject the gilded prison they all built for themselves.

"Mama? I'm cold, can we go home?" Sarika had spent herself out on the plane, and now her exhausted figure was draped over Dorian's shoulder. She and Lukas were huddling together against the robot's presumably artificially warm chest. Daylight dimmed as the short winter day waned, but still the days were gradually gaining momentum over the night.

"The word you're looking for is love, not attachment," John said, and signed the document.

 

******

 

John hobbled out of the shower, feeling much less like a hormonal freak of nature with the alpha pheromones finally washed off. It was awkward to bathe without anything to hold onto, but she managed to lean on things enough to towel the stump off and snap back on the leg. She was going to build upper body strength by the time she and Dorian got their own place. Which wouldn't be for days, unless Allen took the initiative, because the final phase of her heat was descending on her like a drone falling from the sky. Having that alpha junk rubbed on her skin all day decidedly did not help. After the meeting with the social worker in the morning, she and Dorian were retreating to a neighbor's rented "ovulation house," essentially a small bed and breakfast just for mating couples. _Ancestors bless Utah_ , thought John.

With only a loose shirt and underwear as pajamas, she tiptoed down to her niece's bedroom that had been given over to the two of them. The small housing unit only had three bedrooms, and Allen commandeered the couch in order to give the two of them some privacy. Dorian was already in there, attaching herself to three wall sockets for a long night of drip-like energy.

"Kids asleep?"

"Lukas is zonked out, Sarika might still be whispering with her cousins. I think she grudgingly thinks this is fun, for now."

"She'll never forgive me. She _is_ my kid, and I'd never forgive me either." John dimmed the lights and crawled onto the low mattress, then unclicked the leg yet again. Dorian curled up behind her on the bed, the wires trailing out of her hands like some kind of freakish medical apparatus.

"Do you forgive yourself?" Dorian whispered in her ear.

"For what?"

"Leaving. Not leaving sooner. Any of the things you always feel guilty and conflicted about, John."

"I ... I don't know. Ask me in a few days when I've had time to process." She wriggled around, a little awkward with the stump, to face her lover and give her a slow kiss. "We did it, didn't we? We're really here. We're not cops anymore, we're homeless, jobless, dependent on the charity of family for almost everything. But I don't care, because I can kiss you whenever I want. Touch you."

"Well, I wouldn't recommend making out at the dining room table, but..." John caught her lip and sucked, pushing her tongue in for more of Dorian's unique metallic taste. When they paused for John to pant for air, she wrapped her hands around the android's neck and breathed into her ear.

"Do you think it would be too perverted to do it right here in this kid's bedroom?" John whispered.

"Everyone in the house knows you're ovulating in four days. Although based on the taste of you, I don't think you're going to make it that long. Two or three days, tops. I doubt they would let me in here to recharge with you without some idea of what we would do."

"Well you _are_ my Synthetic Companion. _Two days?_ I want you so much, Dorian. Please ..." She resumed sucking, this time on Dorian's neck, then began working down the bare chest.

"I'll do anything for you, John. But you have to tell me what you want. Still not going to order you or dom you. Just tell me, tell me, love."

John was already pulling off the wires, pulling off their flimsy clothes, as the insatiable need overwhelmed what little resistance was left, drowning out her exhaustion and stress and guilt. _Freedom,_ she couldn't let it go to waste, "Fuck me," she moaned, kissing between phrases. "Fill me, fuck me, let me feel you pushing me. That's what I want. Please, Dorian, stop with the talking. It's torture."

 _"You're_ the one doing most of the talking. But if that's what you want ..." She slid her hand underneath the stumpy thigh, almost up to finger John's buttocks, then in one swift motion lifted the leg out and plunged in. John nearly screamed, but cut it off by biting down on Dorian's shoulder. She hadn't been taken quickly like that in _years._

"Don't rip anything," Dorian whispered in her ear, even as her tenacious hands controlled the lower half of John's body, pulling her onto her cock again and again. "We have to pay for repairs ourselves now, and that stuff's expensive. Take care of my body and I'll take care of yours."

"Promise?" John managed to gasp out.

"Promise. Forever."

 


	9. Chapter 9

Early in the morning John woke to the awareness of an immobile metal statue taking up significant portions of the mattress. It was Dorian, laying face-up with her eyes open and wires again trailing out from her hands. Not really a hunk of metal, but when she recharged she didn't breath, didn't move around, didn't blink, all of which signaled how inhuman she actually was.

John decided she could get used to it.

Despite her partner's inertia, John snuggled up on her chest anyway, careful not to disturb her tenuous connection to the power outlet. Dorian had warned she would need to charge through mid-morning, so John didn't expect a reaction. But the physical contact flooded John's heat-addled brain with endorphins, and she rubbed Dorian's chest with her cheek, willing the damn tears not to fall.

"I love you, Dorian," she whispered. "I love you more than anything else in my life. I don't know why you've chosen to love me, but I'll always be grateful. And I'm sorry I'm too chicken-shit to tell you all this when you can actually hear me."

There was a tentative knocking at the door, and John jumped. A soft voice called through the door. "Mama? Allen said we could knock." Strange and unexpected, but John warmed to the idea as she threw the leg and a minimum of clothes on. Since before the kids didn't have permission to visit the adult side, they never could drop in at random in the morning. Cam used to take care of all of that.

"Umm ... wait a second ... okay come in." She tossed a blanket over Dorian for the time being. Sarika swung open the door and hesitated at the threshold, holding Lukas' hand.

"Lukas is scared. Can we stay with you for a minute? Allen said it was okay." John caught a glimpse of Allen far behind them down the hall, giving the scene a faint smile.

"Sure little ones, come here. You can knock any time." They ran in and climbed onto the futon, curling in between John's outstretched arm and Dorian's lump of a form. Sarika cast a worried look at the android as she squeezed in against Dorian's side. "Don't worry, she's just recharging. You guys okay? How'd you like sleeping in your cousin's room?"

"Lukas woke up crying so I let her on my mattress. Then she wiggled around and stole all the space on my pillow. How come they don't have a baby room for her to sleep in?"

"There's no baby room because there aren't any other babies. Deheya and Kempai are it."

"They can't lay any more eggs?"

"No, they probably can, but they choose not to. Out here people believe in only having the children you want to grow up."

Sarika nodded. "They don't do the Trials," she said, not unapprovingly. "Allen says you have to go away for the next couple of days for an egg, though. Won't that make another baby?"

"No, sweetie. You can only make a baby with your bondmate. But the body tries to ovulate anyway. Like Jaden. It's just one of the fun things about growing up that you'll find out when you're older."

"Is Dorian your bondmate now? You never want to see Father again?"

 _Yes,_ thought John. To both questions. But all she said was, "You can only ever have one true bondmate, Sarika. I don't know if I'll ever see Sandra again.. I don't think he ever wants to see _me_ again."

"What about us? Will he ever see us again?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry." She expected another crying fest for Maartie, but instead Sarika stared at the ceiling, morose.

"When I'm twelve I can decide for myself. Like you did."

John's heart dropped. "We'll see," she said. The laws were different here, but if Maldonado put up a fight... "We've got a long time before then. Meanwhile, we need to eat breakfast. And I heard it was supposed to snow a lot last night. How often have you guys seen snow?"

"I still miss Maartie," sniffed Sarika. "She could build a great snow fortress."

"I know, sweetie. I'm sorry."

 

******

 

Maldonado laid under the covers of his futon, trying to muster up the motivation to face the day. He needed to deal with Stahlo's insistent calls for blood, and some legal matters, and of course the incessant rumors that came with a severe blow to honor. Thanks to Stahlo's mouthiness word about John's betrayal had already reached the upper echelons of the Police Bureau, and Maldonado would need to move quickly to reassert his authority in order to avoid a major career upheaval.

That morning, he couldn't give a damn about any of it. His beautiful _rishon_ was gone. John, that child of switches that Sandra had spent countless hours training into respectability, gone. The promise of an aleph had vanished in a puff of smoke. Even Rudy betrayed him, choosing to indulge Allen in place of honor and respect. Rudy was probably about to keel over against the wall in her room, but Maldonado couldn't muster up concern about that either.

Some part of him felt a demotion was justified. He had clearly failed in not one but two vitally important personal matters: The selection of an appropriate bondmate for Allen, and the management of John's depression after waking from the coma. Allen's case was a complete debacle, for it concerned another prominent nest, a relationship now permanently tarnished by Allen's unwillingness to capitulate. It was obvious in retrospect that the girl needed someone with a lighter touch, an alpha capable of intellectually convincing her of her appropriate social position instead of bludgeoning her into submission. Granted Allen had only been sixteen when the bargain was struck, but even then, her strong-willed nature had been evident. He should have heeded Rudy's private warnings that the match would be unstable.

Then there was John. Confused, broken John, who in her distress would clearly seek out affection from any source possible, even a machine inexorably responding to programming. The DRNs were designed to elicit attachment out of their partners, either omega or alpha, by subtly altering their personalities to match whatever the partner most needed at the time. Had Sandra been paying attention to the DRN's behavior, he could have had an excellent gauge to John's repressed emotional needs. But instead he'd been fooled by John's apparent return to health and professional functioning. He never suspected John would actually _run_ , though. Sandra would have pegged her as the type to glower in her suffering forever, with her anger bubbling up occasionally in inappropriate outbursts. Apparently the help of a world-class roboticist and switch relatives in Utah had pushed over her ambivalence.

Maldonado had been furious the previous evening when the nature of the situation became apparent. In late afternoon he was just beginning to get concerned that John and the children hadn't returned, when Rudy stumbled through the door, looking so twitchy and guilty that Maldonado immediately became alarmed. Almost simultaneously, Stahlo sent one of those subtextually domineering messages that one sometimes received from fellow alphas: _Sent your daughter a command to return home via the mother one hour ago. No response. Realize this is a difficult day for you but please effect action. Disrespect will not be tolerated._

Maldonado had dashed to his private vidscreen. And indeed the secret passive monitor chip installed in John's collar, which none of his bondmates knew about and that was undetectable to the bot unless it was pinged, was no longer on John's neck, and no longer even in the City of Vancouver. In fact it was near the southeastern Columbia border, moving about two hundred miles per hour, probably in a light aircraft.

His first explosive instinct, formed in the cold fury over their disobedience, was to crush them. Let them land and think they had victory. Then send an elite MX squad stealthily over the border to shoot the abominable DRN in its neural net, and drag John and Allen back just long enough for a public renunciation and banishment. _Then_ they could return to Utah to the rubble of their lives, once face had been saved. The provincial authorities would squawk at such an illegal move, but no Alpha Council in the country would condemn him. Utah was weak and would not provoke a confrontation over outsider omega runaways, no matter their sickening moralistic perversions.

But at that very moment, someone had the temerity to knock on his bedroom door, before he sent the vindictive order. Rudy. Sandra grabbed her and shoved her up against the nearest wall.

"What have you done? You've ruined us, ruined Allen, ruined John, ruined those children. They will never have honor again. I know you are responsible, Rudy. John and that fucking lovestruck robot wouldn't have made it five feet without you."

Rudy stared at him with trembling combination of terror and defiance. "He would have killed her! How can you not see that? I've given you ten children that I've watched live and die. No more! I'm not standing by for even one more!"

"Are you threatening me, omega? The decision to make a child an alpha lies solely with me. You have no right ..."

"I don't care about rights," Rudy interrupted. "I don't even care if you banish me too. Do it if you must, Sandra. But I'll never be sorry about letting her go, and I'll find a way to take the other three as well. Do you want your entire family to slip away from you? After Charlie, how can you keep doing this? _Not one more."_

Something in her mutinous and desperate voice finally snapped for Sandra, and he released her from his grip. Rudy visibly vacillated, then reached out for what was likely intended to be a comforting touch. Sandra slapped her hand away and turned his back.

"Go to your room. Assume beta position without turning on the light and wait for my signal. Probably tomorrow."

Rudy nodded at the orders, impassively delivered. She knew he was indicating defeat, but pressed anyway. "Are you going to let them go?" she whispered.

"Yes," Sandra had hissed. "Leave me, before I decide to extract punishment from you right now, while I'm still in the mood to cut someone's throat." At the concession Rudy turned to flee, but Sandra suddenly grabbed the back of her shirt before she could move forward. "You know you are the only person in the world I would do this for. Ever."

"I know. Thank you." And then she really did run.

Sandra took out a hidden bottle of liquor from a cabinet, and poured a drink. He raised a toast to the victory of all the squeamish, sentimental omegas in his life, and started in on the paperwork to cut John Kennex off forever.

 

 

******

 

After the kids squeezed in an hour of snowball fights and tobogganing, all five wayfarers plus Jacob clambered into the automated neighborhood van for their social services appointment. Technically Dorian didn't have to go since they already had her ID transponder on record, but she wanted lend support and babysitting services while they waited. They slowly rolled through the sleepy town, blanketed with a fresh six inches of snow. Like a blank canvas for their clean start, John thought.

"Hey, John," Allen said, nudging him with her bad arm and cocking her head outside. They were passing a large billboard emblazoned with FREE TSOXATSAT.

"Oh yeah, you've heard about her?" Jacob said excitedly. "Nooksackian girl _kidnapped_ and forced to participate in the Trials? And somehow she _wins_ and now they're adopting her out as an alpha, as if her family and tribe never existed?"

"Yes. We've heard of him," Allen replied dully."Even if you did 'free' him, wouldn't he still be a pariah in his community? He still received the injection. He'll always be an alpha now."

"Eh, maybe, there's some anti-cascade blockers in the works that might restore the ability to bond if given within a few months of injection. It's all still experimental because none of the recovered children are old enough to bond yet. But that's besides the point. The point is, _culturally_ she's an omega and a Nooksack, and the Columbia authorities shouldn't have the right to strip that away through their discriminatory rules."

John and Allen both glanced at each other and simultaneously shrugged. As far as they were concerned, in the grand scheme of things one kid gaining the privileged status of alpha did not merit an outcry. Especially since he had earned it in true alpha fashion.

"Hey, John?"

"Yes, oh little sister?"

"It's great to have you here. Can't tell you what it means to see you again, to meet your kids and your mate."

John squirmed in embarrassment at the squishy _feelings_ , but managed a smile and a clasp on the shoulder. "Great to be here and get to know you too. I wish we could have done it before, under better circumstances."

Behind her Allen and Dorian grinned. "Do you think your parents will ever reconcile themselves to John again?" Dorian asked.

"Dunno, they're horribly stubborn and set in the old ways," Jacob replied. "They didn't even approve of me marrying a Native, which is beyond ridiculous. But they're coming out next summer for a visit, so we'll see, right? Cute grandkids can't hurt."

At the social service office, the kids were only subjected to cursory exams and questioning, enough to probe for signs of abuse and take blood samples for maternity testing and confirmation neither one was an alpha. Apparently runways often tried to pass their recently-injected children off as omegas, despite the experimental reversal drugs. In this new strange land, alphas were the ones discriminated against, socially if not legally.

Then it was John's turn, and the questioning really began.

"Your bondmate is Captain Sandra Maldonado of the Vancouver Police Bureau, correct?"

"Yes. Has he _done_ anything since we left yesterday? Filed a stolen property report, put out an APB on the kids, anything?"

"Let's see ... just a decree of estrangement -- that puts the blame on you for running away and absolves him of any support -- and a request for reimbursement from the Province of Utah for your android. Basically he knows you're here, and he's not fighting it. Lucky you."

"What about the kids?"

"No support unless you keep them in the alpha system and get _permission_ " -- the caseworker spit the word out -- "of your bondmate for custody."

"I'm not asking for _money,_ I"m asking if he's fighting for custody."

"Oh. That'd be difficult once they're in Utah. Unless they were post-Trial alphas, which ...uh ... it looks like yours are not."

"Obviously not. Lucky me."

"Now, you were a detective with the VPD, sergeant rank?"

 _Were._ "We both were. Dorian and me." Next to her Dorian smiled sadly and took her hand.

"Right. I'll make a note in your file but obtaining a government job will probably be difficult. Vancouver generally doesn't play nice in the reference department for runaways."

"So I've heard. Sandra did threaten to toss me out onto the street once and ban me from police work everywhere. Probably can make good on that if I push it."

"Hmm. What else did he threaten you with?"

"Nothing worth crying about ..." John started, but Dorian cut her off.

"Yes, he did. Sarika." Dorian glanced at the caseworker, determined to tell the story over John's furious eyes. "The Captain publicly threatened to have Sarika turned and placed in the Trials if John's behavior did not improve."

"So, you had a reasonable fear for your child's life?"

"Of course I did," John snapped, getting more angry by the minute. What _business_ of it was theirs? "She never would have made it. My behavior improved, so it's a moot point."

"Did he ever physically or sexually abuse you?"

"I don't even know what you're asking. Of course we had sex, normal sex. He never broke my arm or left me in subspace like Stahlo did to Allen. He never ignored a safeword. He wasn't a terrible person. If it weren't for the Trials I'd ..." She broke down then, unable to articulate the humiliating remainder: _I'd never have left._ She couldn't bear to look at Dorian, to admit that no matter how much she loved her, it took the threat of her children's lives and futures to induce her to action. When John did peer up though, Dorian eyes held nothing but compassion, and she brought John's hand up to her lips. Just like she used to do in the cruiser those short weeks ago.

"What about your leg? Was your Captain in any way involved in that?"

 _"YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT,"_ John exploded. "My nestmate, my _partner_ , died in that raid, Sandra kept my wounded shell of a body alive for a whole year." She stood up, nearly knocking the chair over with a kick of her synthetic leg. "That's it, I'm done here. You have enough for your file. I'm not some terrified teenager who's run away from Daddy. Allen's up, I'm done."

With a wave of dismissal, she stomped off to the restroom. Dorian shot the caseworker an apologetic look and raced after her. She found John leaning over a sink, glaring into the mirror as she gasped for breath. Dorian walked over and, without negotiating permission for once, wrapped her arms underneath John's and pulled her in.

"I'm sorry," John said. "I thought Utah would be ... I don't know what I thought."

"That you would magically change overnight into a shiny happy person? That's not you, John. But I'll take you anyway."

John rubbed Dorian's fuzzy hair with her cheek as they embraced. All of the struggle was worth it, just for this. "I don't deserve you. I don't mean that in a sappy way, but literally. It's just a fact. Dorian ...?" She cupped her partner's face and pulled her off her chest to look her in the eye. "Are you sure you want to stay with me? Now that we're here, you don't have to. I don't own you like you're a thing, no matter what the paperwork says. You can have your own life if you want."

Dorian frowned and her cheek matrix swirled red, as if giving the matter serious thought. John's stomach turned at the thought of her leaving, but waited quietly for her decision. Finally Dorian pulled her back in for a hug and said, "I can't imagine what other life I would want. But thank you for asking."

"Any time, always."

They stood there for some lengthy seconds, holding each other. John's arousal crept up again and she began to shake, a reminder that her body currently had a mutinous life of its own. She was just about to suggest they leave for the heat retreat, like _now,_ when Dorian pushed away.

"You still have to do to the medical exam," she said, as if reading her partner's mind. John groaned, but before she could complain Dorian added, "It's necessary to receive health benefits, which you will need for your leg. Also I was told we might receive some medication to help with the heat."

"What for? It's ovulation. You fuck a lot and then you sleep. Not that complicated." At Dorian's unwavering staredown, she waggled a hand. "Fine, fine, lets get it over with."

They emerged from the restroom and strolled back over to the caseworker's desk, where she was reciting a disclaimer to Allen on her reproductive options. Allen looked about as annoyed as John had been, although far less likely to storm off.

"... yes, yes, I'm aware that I can only ever have one bondmate. I'm aware that I will never have my own children. I ran anyway," Allen was saying, a tad sarcastically. The caseworker appeared not to notice.

"Well, as a hetzi it will be difficult to attract a bondmate, no doubt about it," the caseworker pressed. "Sometimes hetzis marry each other, although of course no children can result from such a union. But if you're very lucky, if you find that special someone, you can become an ima, although it's asking a lot of your partner ..."

 _"Ima?"_ interrupted John.

"You're suggesting I become the _alpha?"_ Allen exclaimed simultaneously.

The caseworker wrinkled her nose in distaste. "No, of course not, being the ima has nothing to do with the relationship dynamic. You'd just be, you know, the inseminator. Since you can't form eggs. Of course, as I was saying, that's asking a lot of your spouse to bond to you without you being able to reciprocate back, a lot of trust, but sometimes love just strikes, you know?"

Allen's face was thunderstruck. "I've never in my life heard of such a thing."

"Yes, well, it's not in the alphas' best interests to let you know you can marry again, is it? They don't want you to imagine yourself as anything but barefoot and incubating eggs forever. The truth is, honey, you're young and pretty, you have many options."

"As opposed to the old and ugly among us," deadpanned John. "Speaking of, I'm going back over to Medical for my share of the poking and prodding, then Dorian and I are taking a cab to the isolation house. I can't take this fluorescent-lit hell any longer. Take the kids back home with Jacob for me?"

Allen nodded, her pale eyes fierce and bright, as if she had been handed a fresh new life. Options, many options indeed.

 

******

 

John endured the exam without punching or shooting anyone, but her ability to focus was rapidly waning. Her clothes scratched at her roiling skin, and the leg ached, as if the rest of her actively rejected the heavy foreign implement. Her sense of smell overpowered her, but everything seemed sharp and rancid. She was approaching the stage where every waking second was occupied with thoughts of sex, and she wanted only to cocoon herself in some warm cozy place with her lover. She desired no food, no drink, definitely no clothes, bathing an acceptable option only if it involved a cock jammed up in her. The doc and Dorian concurred that ovulation would occur in about twenty-four hours.

The little rented house was sparsely furnished but nevertheless brightly decorated with Mexica motifs. Despite the fact that John was about to melt into a sexual puddle of goo, Dorian ran around examining the cottage. ("It is my first vacation home, John.") They had a kitchenette filled with finger foods and non-alcoholic drinks, a level G4 synthetic power charger which Dorian gave a thumbs up, a huge Nippon-style bathtub and synthetic-friendly sonic shower, and two different heights of mattresses in the single bedroom. The place didn't even bother with a dining or living room. There was a small second bedroom containing a heated bed built into the floor, a massive pile of blankets and towels, an incubator, and a biowaste disposal unit. Switches didn't keep most of their eggs. Dorian shut the door.

Then, back in the regular bedroom she pulled open a wardrobe to find it full of neatly hanging adult toys, covered in disposable steri-plastic. "Wow," Dorian said.

"Ancestors bless Utah," John replied over her shoulder.

The whole cottage was remarkably like John's fantasies at the wedding a couple of weeks ago, minus the summer flowers. John couldn't care less. "Off," she said, attacking Dorian's lips between words. "Clothes off. Everything off. No more clothes for the next day." Apparently complete sentences were going along with the clothes.

She dragged Dorian over to the platform bed, conveniently situated at sitting height so she didn't have to put pressure on the stump to crouch down to the floor. Vaguely the thought crossed John's mind that they should get one of these for their own apartment, when they had the time. Then Dorian ran her fingertips down John's back as she removed her shirt, and thinking once again ceased, engulfed in lust and need. She sat on the edge of the bed while Dorian stood before her, fumbling with the zipper on her partner's fly. She just about had their pants off enough to pull Dorian into her -- mouth, oviduct, who the hell cared? -- when Dorian firmly held back her head and said, "Wait."

John reflexively stopped.

"We need to talk about how we're going to do this."

 _"Talk?_ No. No no no noooo. No more talking. Just do, Dorian. Do whatever you want to me. I already know you'll never hurt me. Please, I can barely ..." Once again she ran her hands in Dorian's pants, rubbing the cock, and again Dorian gently held her at bay.

"That's not going to do it for me, John." She took a step back and then flopped on the bed, face up and with pondering electrical flashes twirling around.

John blew out of her nose in frustration. "Well, what _will_ do it for you?" Her mind blipped to fantasy again, this time of Dorian's soft voice giving her orders, telling her exactly what to do, so all of this _talking_ and _thinking_ business could cease. She could give herself up, give over her body to another person, let her mind go and just let the pleasure wash over her, again and again. It was the hottest thing John had imagined all day. "Please, Dorian, at this point you could hang me from the rafters and I'd still come. What do you want?" She hesitated between waiting patiently as a good submissive, or proactively climbing on top of her lover and pulling her inside. Wasn't Dorian always going on that John should express her desires? How did they always end up having the same conversation over and over again?

"It needs to be reciprocal," Dorian slowly stated, as if she were thinking it through aloud. "I can't come unless I believe my partner is experiencing maximum satisfaction out of the situation. You want me to direct you, and right now your frame of mind is such that you could probably orgasm from a simple command. But I also believe it would be in your long-term best interests to learn to articulate your desires. It's the only way you'll discover what it is you want, what you _can_ want."

"Can't come ...?" John asked dumbly. The rest of the train of thought was lost on her. The way Dorian worked, that it might be different from regular omega sexuality, had never occurred to John before. In a weird way they had made the DRNs the ultimate subs, incapable of experiencing pleasure on their own terms. It would always boil down to their partner's needs, even when dealing with the paradox of another submissive.

"You're in no condition to negotiate every act," Dorian continued, as she hadn't heard her. "Therefore I propose we alternate. One of us picks something, we do it, then we switch roles and do it again from the opposite perspective. Then the other person picks. What do you think?"

"The Hepburn game?" Named after a rather famous -- or infamous -- switch actor of the previous century, who, rumor had it kept a stable of sexual partners of every orientation and bonding status. "Fine, whatever, I accept. But we need to discuss this android orgasm problem at a later date, okay?"

"It's not really what I'd call a problem," Dorian murmured, grinning in joy and scooting closer on the bed. "They could have built me completely anorgasmic. Wouldn't that suck?"

"Talking," John moaned the word involuntarily. "So much fucking talking. You're not going to make me sign a contract on who goes first in this little game, are you?"

"Based on this," -- Dorian slid a hand down John's painfully hard cock while she squirmed -- "it's obvious who needs to go first."

Before John could hiss out what she was thinking, which was something like _DO SOMETHING FOR FUCK'S SAKE by the love of my ancestors,_ Dorian plunged three fingers into her, deeply up to her knuckles. John writhed but didn't cry out, and bore down for more. _Something,_ at last. She wanted to beg for a blow job too, but then remembered the rules. It was Dorian's turn to pick, and she opted to wrap her other hand around John's cock rather than her mouth. She switched to four fingers, stretching John practically to the point of fisting, while the latter lay back with her knees open and welcoming, thrusting her hips with each stroke and insertion.

"Come for me, love," Dorian whispered. "Come quickly, don't hold back."

And John obeyed. The orgasm was swift and overwhelming, like great release of pressure. John knew the relieved feeling would only last about five minutes, but it was blissful nonetheless. Dorian extricated her hand and slid back up John's body for some lazy kissing.

"Mmm, is this still a part of what I have to reciprocate?" Dorian's lips and tongue felt good, their chest rubbing together felt good, every cell in John's body felt good.

"My favorite part, so yes. Oxytocin, do you have an idea how amazing you taste right now?"

"You can taste tha ...?" Dorian pushed her lips against her harder, full tongue in response. When they broke off, John panted, "You and your kissing. That's what got us into this mess in the first place. No one's mouth has a right to be that talented."

"Whatever, grumpy omega. I have quantitative evidence that you enjoy it. Your turn, I look forward to your best efforts."

"Oh, great, lay on the pressure. Now might be a good time for the lecture on bot sexuality. Are you even going to get anything from this?" She certainly relished the experience that first time at the hotel, but John was suddenly conscious of the fact that all three times she'd seen Dorian come, John herself was coming at the same time too.

Dorian laughed and pushed John's head down her body. "Yes. I promise I will enjoy it. I'm not sure I can come from this without you, but I still want you to explore me."

"That's why you picked this, huh? To get me to explore you? Legitimate." John flipped positions, moving head down and ending up resting her head on Dorian's outstretched legs, sideways. She inserted a couple of fingers to test the waters. Just like at the wedding Dorian was stupendously wet, but also effortlessly clamping down on John's fingers. Like her cock, her oviduct appeared both realistic but also a bit out of the norm. John couldn't detect the edges of the egg formation chamber, because Dorian didn't have one. She tried to find the famous P-spot, far up and forward where nerves from the penis tended to intersect with the oviduct, but that also seemed to be missing. Nevertheless, no matter where or how John pushed in, Dorian moaned and rainbow swirled and rocked for more.

John used her other hand to probe around the oddly hairless base of her cock. It _felt_ lifelike, as if she had real blood pulsing through her, and maybe there was more of that strange pneumatic liquid. She tried to set a rhythm, to build Dorian up, but although she acted aroused, she never seemed close. After ten minutes -- really an interminable amount of time to stroke someone off -- John was hard and frustrated all over again. Dorian must have sensed this, for she opened her eyes and gently took John's hand in her own.

"That's enough, okay? Time for something different," she said.

"Are you sure? Hmm, something to work on for later. I feel like this is not an insurmountable task."

"Maybe. It might just be the way I was made, John. What do you want to do next? Your turn."

"Didn't we forget the kissing bit? You favorite part?"

Dorian laughed again, pulling John back up to the head of the bed. "Works better with an afterglow, but if you insist ..." This time the kissing was less hungry and more tender, just enough to make John crave more full-body touch. She rolled partially on top of Dorian, hooking a leg and wrapping her arms under Dorian's own. The android's body was warm, she noted. How long had she been wasting charge on that?

"Dorian? What do you really feel when we do this? I'm sorry I never asked before. I just assumed it was the same for you. You ... you always look like you're ..."

"Happy? I feel happy whenever I make you happy. Or sometimes joyful, sometimes exhilarated. I feel intense pleasure from the sexual act, but there's no way to know if it's anything like what you feel. Certain stimuli are pleasant when I'm alone, but it's only when I'm with you does that same stimuli push over to ecstasy. Does that answer your question?"

"What about the orgasm thing, though?"

Dorian sighed and ran her fingertips down John's exposed back. "Is that what's bothering you? It is what it is. When I come with you it's amazing, all this connection and euphoria and love merged into one. I feel ... a little bit human. But if I don't, it doesn't bother me. I would still give everything to have you lie against my body like this, or to see the look you give me when you think no one's paying attention. That flustered confused look that says you'd secretly rather be with me than any other person in the universe."

"Not so secret now," John murmured, and caught her lips once again. "With a speech like that, you're insanely hot. I don't think I've mentioned it before, but just so you know." She moved from hovering above the mouth to sucking and licking Dorian's cheek, and was rewarded with satisfying little electric shocks.

Dorian's eyes were tightly closed and her lips parted through the soft stimulation. "Now I know your brain is melting from the heat. What do you want to do next?"

"I want ..." John paused, thinking of a position she'd like from both the top and bottom, both as the giver and receiver. "Roll me onto my stomach," she said, and for once didn't hedge or stutter over the command. It was _okay,_ everything with Dorian was okay.

Dorian squirmed out from where she'd been pinned down, leaving John positioned with her face half buried in a fluffy pillow. She loomed over John's back, breathing heavily on her neck despite a notable lack of need for oxygen. "Now what?" she whispered.

"On top of me, from behind. Pull my hair when you're about to come," John whispered back.

"Anal or oviduct?" Dorian hushed. Somehow that broke spell, and John involuntarily let out a muffled chuckle from the pillow. "What? It's a legitimate question from this position."

"No one who can count the number of times they've had sex on one hand should casually drop 'anal'. Ever," laughed John.

"There's a first time for everything, you know. I have excellent programming. I presume from your reaction, though, you want ... this." Dorian slid in between her clenched legs, low to hit the oviduct, then leaned forward so her weight was distributed along John's torso. She lay still for a few moments, interclasping John's splayed hands on the mattress and nuzzling the back of her neck. Dorian's considerable weight pressed John into the puffy bed cover, inducing the sensation of being restrained without actually being tied up. She knew she could escape at any time, trusted with her entire being that Dorian would move at the slightest sign of discomfort.

"Like that?" her lover whispered. John couldn't tell whether Dorian was asking for directions or her opinion, but either way, the simple question provoked such a sense of _control_ that John almost wanted to weep. Good thing her face wasn't visible, although Dorian could still probably interpret her emotions solely from the back of her head.

"Yes. Move, now." She choked off the reflexive _please,_ imagined Dorian smile as that impossible breath tickled the back of her neck, and Dorian indeed moved.

 

******

 

Nearly a full day later, a groggy John woke up to a sore, sluggish body and an agonizing headache. Her mind felt like it trying to wade through caramel, too: hot, sticky, unable to move or focus. Worst of all, the sexual cravings had not only not abated but multiplied in force to addiction levels. _Withdrawal_ levels. Pheromones were the drug, and even the most alluring android in the world was not -- could not -- be the cure.

"Dorian? You there?" John mumbled, though her tongue wasn't too cooperative. She couldn't lift her head or even open her eyes without every cell in her body shrilling its objection.

"Yes, John, I'm right here." She sank onto the tall bed next to John and stroked her back. With a moan John half-rolled towards her and curled against Dorian's hand.

"This sucks. Weird suckiness. Never felt like this any other time. Hard to wake up."

"I gave you some sedatives last night. What do you remember?"

"Fuck a lot then sleep? Guess we did that." She was vaguely aware of Dorian's soft laugh and kiss on top of the head.

"You were becoming uncomfortable and agitated. There's only so much that sex without your bondmate can do. Do you remember the doctor warning us about this yesterday?"

"Vaguely. Guess the pill pusher was right. Didn't believe her." John's body started to shake, and Dorian tucked half the comforter around her like a cocoon. The migraine stabbed behind her eyes, reminiscent to the headaches that plagued her upon awakening from the coma. Her cock was partially erect yet again, but even that felt abused and sore. Sex sounded about as appealing as being kicked in the crotch, despite the abstract horniness. Like starving and feeling horrifically nauseous at the same time. "Y'got something for my head?"

"Head?" the far-way Dorian asked. A long pause later, the android rubbed her face gently to tip her up. "Here, take this. You have some cranial vasoconstriction that's causing a minor headache. Come on, drink up."

"Minor my ass." She managed to sit up enough to swallow the pill, then collapse back down into Dorian's lap. Her cool hands massaged John's temples, then worked down to her shoulders and neck. Nice, John's unresponsive mind noted. Comforting. "How long's it been? Where'm I at? Can't feel an egg, or pieces."

"It's one-ten in the afternoon. Ovulation occurred about an hour ago. It's at the albumen stage now. You had some sperm stored from sex a few days ago but it does not look like fertilization occurred."

"Right. Woke up early. Usually shell. Or bits, that's always sad." At least she thought it was sad. Hard to remember at that moment. Maybe sometimes she was relieved when there was no egg. How many times had she made an egg? Five times. Only two children.

"Dor? Did we conjoin? Can't remember."

"If you mean knotting, no. I can't do that. We did try a toy. But you were quite ... irritable ... by then."

"Oh. Sorry. Always liked that part. He's always gentle, quiet then. Can't do anything but lie around. Peaceful."

"Kind of like you right now," Dorian said. One arm was draped around John's shoulders, the other still idly rubbing her cheek and temple. Wrapped up around John, protecting her. Already it was hard to imagine the time before this, when Dorian wasn't there to touch within an instant's reach.

"Heh. Yeah. Dorian, can I tell you something?"

"Anything."

"I think I love you. You're kind and gorgeous and too patient to be fucking real and are a better parent than me. Okay, a better person. I never told you that, but I think it. Or I told you but you were asleep, and you should hear it awake, you know?"

Dorian laughed at the rambling, but drew her arms tighter around the incapacitated form in her lap. "Shh, I do know. I think I love you too. Even when you're irritable, annoying and irrational."

"So basically all the time," John said, and Dorian laughed even harder.

"All the time. For the rest of my days, whatever may come."

 

 


	10. Epilogue: Five years later

 John raised a glass with Rudy at the head table, revelers and jesters and dancers twirling all around them. Dorian was entertaining a pack of children as usual, including seven-year-old Lukas, tall like her mama, and Jacob and Biaisa's youngest, a spry three-year-old with curly black hair. At the next table Sarika hunched over animatedly with the surprise guest, Maartie, laughing and talking as if five years hadn't passed, and as if they weren't barreling head-first into utterly different lives.

Allen sat at the center once again. She whispered conspiratorially with her bride, then they both giggled. This time she was next to a bondmate chosen purely for love, a statuesque Mixtec omega by the name of Ñudzahui that Allen met as a student at the university. Native Studies, in the end, since anthropology was a poisoned well, and at UU widely derided as hopelessly alpha-privileged to boot. The two of them were adorable just for the height difference alone.

Sandra had relented on Rudy and Maartie attending Allen's wedding. But not for Jaden, and not for himself. Jaden's arranged bondmate -- that wedding set six months hence, in January of course -- had not given permission for his future martha to commit such a disrespectable act as attending a switch wedding, with a former runaway bride no less, so home she stayed. But Rudy insisted, and as usual she had a strangely effective sway over Maldonado's decision-making.

"So, do you like this one?" John was asking, about Jaden's would-be spouse. "The Maldonad clan isn't headed for another disaster of epic proportions, is it?"

"I think not. He's fairly young, calm, progressive. The older bondmate is delightful and free to speak her mind. Obviously they must be at least somewhat open-minded to deal with us."

"Oh yeah, your besmirched honor. Sorry 'bout that." It had been ages since John had given alpha honor the slightest second of thought. "Is he progressive enough to give up the Trials, though? Give up the dream of an aleph? Probably wouldn't need a martha then."

"Sure, you seem very sorry, here happy with your gorgeous children and tailor-made android mate. Complete hell. No, he's not that progressive. It would be tough to do, it's drummed into them their entire lives to continue the line. Sandra's parents are still apoplectic that we didn't send the rest of them off to their doom."

"They could continue the line without the Trials. Just ... pick a kid, and let the rest live." Damn, John was beginning to sound like Jacob. When had she become such a radical?

"Well that would mean admitting the alphas aren't really any different than the rest of us, wouldn't it? Look around here, not an alpha in sight, and somehow you switches manage to muddle along."

John grinned into her beer. Maybe Rudy was getting a little radical too in her old age.

Allen and Ñudzahui wandered over then, making their final social rounds before driving off to their secret cozy little retreat for the bonding. Ñudzahui's parents hovered nearby, attempting to look supportive. A non-Mixtec hetzi from an alpha family wasn't their idea of a match granted by the ancestors, but even for the most traditional omegas the times were changing, and they vowed to support their daughter's choice.

Allen threw her arms around Rudy, standing on her tiptoes for maximum reach. "Mama. Thank you for coming, again."

"How could I miss it? You're cutting off my air, child." Allen rolled back down to the balls of her feet, but still didn't let go. "Beautiful wedding. Although a little tame for my taste, I expected much more degeneracy from a switch. Speaking of, are you coming to Jaden's wedding?"

"Are we _allowed_ to come? I would like to see Father again, if he wants to see me. And Cam and everybody else. But Ñudzahui has to be able to come too."

"Tough sell. I will work on him. But right now you have more pressing concerns. Your bride is looking peaked, better go. May the ancestors bless your union, child."

She hugged her once again. "Love you, mama. Okay, we're going. Bye, John."

John raised her glass in fellowship. "Have fun, kids. Don't hurt yourselves.

They waved and ran off to the automated car, still laughing and distracted by more farewells and blessings. Allen seemed younger to John than she had years earlier at her first wedding, full of stoicism and repressed terror. As the car sealed up they could spy the two of them falling on each other before the engine even flipped on.

"What about Sarika?" Rudy asked after the car pulled away. "Will you let her come if Allen does?"

"Tough sell for _me_ , Rudy. Is Sandra going to play nice on this one or try and strong-arm her into staying? Once she crosses the border my legal options are nil."

"I think he'll leave the decision up to her. What do you think she wants?"

"Allen and Dorian have been working on her. She knows her prospects are good in Utah, but she's also forgotten the reasons we left. It's a little hypocritical for me to lay down the law on this topic, but there's parenting for you. Maybe as things get closer, email me reassurances that she won't be whisked off to switch deprogramming school the second she lands in Vancouver. Then we can talk."  
"You could just talk to him, you know. I don't always have to be in the middle of it."

"Says you, primary bondmate. I think a cold war detente serves the rest of us just fine. I bet even Val doesn't want to hear from me."

"She got over it. I think she might have even taken a perverse pleasure in watching someone fight back against her father."

"Still no babies?"

"No. I offered up an egg, but no, she stubbornly wants her own."

"I thought you were done with eggs."

"Well, for a _friend_ I could endure it one more time."

John laughed and repressed the urge to give a Rudy a hug, just like Allen but more towering and wobbly. Weddings, never the same sober. "All right, let's offer up a blessing, Rudy. To Allen and Ñudzahui, Sarika and Lukas, to you and Val and Cam and Sandra and Jaden and all of the rest of your issue, may the ancestors bless you all with peace, health and happiness.

"To Dorian and you, as well." They touched glasses, then Rudy added, "Speaking of, Dorian's right static processor has delayed reaction by twenty percent. Aren't you taking care of my android?"

"Oh, now she's your android, huh? Feel free to give her a tune-up, doc. She was pretty excited to see you brought your repair kit."

"Like stitching wounds with thread and a bottle of whiskey out here, but I'll do what I can. For a friend."

They grinned and clinked glasses again.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> TERMINOLOGY AND NERDY DETAILS:
> 
> The Maldonad nest consists of (in order of marriage):  
> Rudy Lom: Allen (19), Charlie/Little Psycho (6), 3 live nestlings, 9 more killed in Trials  
> Cameron Liat (martha): Jaden (15)  
> Martin Pelham (deceased): Martie (7), 2 live nestlings, 4 more killed in Trials  
> John Kennex: Sarika (6), 1 live nestling (Lucas - 2), 3 more killed in Trials  
> Valerie Stahl (no children)
> 
> The humans in this universe are self-incompatible hermaphrodites. This means that all individuals can produce both male and female gametes (sperm and eggs), but they can't reproduce with themselves.
> 
> Ovulation occurs once a year, at a pattern set at adolescence, and produces one single large egg that may or may not be formed or fertilized correctly, depending on a variety of physical and psychological factors. Once a fertilized egg is laid it must be incubated for two months, then the baby nursed after hatching (rather like platypuses). In the modern era the eggs are incubated artificially.
> 
> Bonding is a form of biochemical imprinting associated with ovulation for the omegas. The imprinting occurs at the first sexual intercourse during an ovulation heat. Bonding is required for omegas to successfully form an egg.
> 
> The alphas do not form pair bonds the way that omegas do. As a result they can mate with and fertilize multiple people, but cannot form an egg properly when they ovulate. The factor that turns a child into an alpha is some sort of endocrine disruptor, which permanently alters their hormone production. I picture the omegas as the ancestral form of a pair-bonding species, and the alphas as relatively recent development, evolutionarily speaking. Because the factor can be introduced through deliberate environmental exposure and not just genetically, it could spread very rapidly through the whole human population. The original mutation that started the whole thing off occurred between two and three thousand years ago, very short on a evolutionary time scale but long enough for the alphas to completely take over culturally.
> 
> A nest is a marriage group. A marriage group consisting of one alpha, several omegas and a gaggle of children is the normal social arrangement. A bond between two omegas (switches) is considered deviant and only tolerated on the margins of society. A marriage between two alphas is considered highly taboo by everybody, and likely to be infertile as the neither party can pair bond properly.
> 
> Bondmates are two people who are bonded, whether it be alpha-omega and omega-omega
> 
> Nestmates are omegas who are bonded to the same alpha, basically like the sister-wives in today's polygamous groups
> 
> Marthas are a subgroup of omegas that have chosen to care for and nurse all the children in a nest, thus freeing up the other omegas to have careers, etc. Because constant nursing suppresses ovulation, the marthas generally have only one child, who is traditionally left an omega at her selection.
> 
> Nestlings are children below age five, before their selection, and are thought to be genderless.
> 
> The selection is a ceremony on a child's fifth birthday, where the father chooses whether the child will left an omega or given the injection to be turned into an alpha. Virtually all children outside of certain well-defined exceptions are turned into alphas, until the father has produced a victorious son in the trials.
> 
> The trials are a biannual sporting contest, winter and summer, in which six-year-old alphas compete to the death in contests of cunning and intelligence. Over 90% of the contestants are killed.
> 
> An aleph is a successful contestant in the trials and the heir apparent for any alpha. An alpha father may or may not choose to turn more offspring into alphas after the first aleph has been produced.
> 
> A rishon is a child conceived at the marriage/initial bonding, a rare occurrence. Rishons are traditionally left as omegas as a sign of good fertility.
> 
> A switch refers not only to omegas that are bonded to each other, but also to anyone with sexual desires/practices outside the mainstream Dom/sub system. Bonded switches do not voluntarily participate in either the selection or the trials, but if they produce too many children the authorities have been known to haul off the younger ones and forcibly enter them in the trials, without preparation. As a result the switches are the only major group that practice birth control.


End file.
